


Stage No Time (Plays Have Dangerous Ends)

by ohstars, Tiny_Dragongirl



Series: All is fair in love and Varlow [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Leviathan - Scott Westerfeld, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Big Bang Challenge, Bullying, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Female Sam Wilson, First Kiss, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Mild Language, Neighbors, SMBB 2018, Spider-Man Big Bang 2018, Thanksgiving Dinner, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Twelfth Night - Freeform, drama club, spoilers for episode: s11e04 Arachnids in the UK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-11-28 05:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 59,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18203933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstars/pseuds/ohstars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiny_Dragongirl/pseuds/Tiny_Dragongirl
Summary: Deryn wants Lilit.Peter wants a hug.Alek wants to cry.Shakespeare provides.





	1. Morning Rush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All credit for the amazing art goes to [ohstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstars/profile)!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/165269548@N03/46535986085/)

 

Peter was riding his bicycle like his life depended on it. Of all mornings, why did he have to oversleep today?

 

He had planned it out so nicely. He was going to wake up when his alarm went off, then get dressed, have breakfast while revising Spanish vocabulary for today’s quiz, brush his teeth, and finally leave for school—right on time. What did he do instead? He screwed the pooch, as Mr. Stark would say. Everyday Parker luck. And now Peter was running late for Drama Club.

 

He crossed Maple Street so fast that the wheels of his bike caused a small tornado among the faded, dry leaves on the road. He usually liked to admire Rockdwell in its peaceful morning state. It might not be a big town, but it had its share of secrets, friendly neighbours, and peaceful streets. However, this morning, he was too absorbed in his own misery to notice Raj’s waving from his comic shop, or the two collies’ friendly barking from the garden on Park Street.

 

As he couldn’t pedal fast enough to leave his troubling thoughts behind, Peter changed tactics; he forced himself to think about less gloomy things. Like his other extracurricular activities that he wasn’t late for right now. Decathlon team and robotics lab were going fine, but the marching band didn’t need a guitarist (obviously), so they’d told him to learn to play the trombone in order to become a backup marcher. He had considered the pros and cons and concluded that the trombone was a huge no for him right now. Maybe one day he could afford the music lessons but until then—

 

Until then he had Drama Club—and Peter wanted to do it very badly. Arriving to the first club meeting all sweaty and panting might not be the best entrance, but it sounded much better than arriving late. MJ would have his head. Or worse: she would ban him from Drama Club before it even started! Peter couldn’t risk that; he had already told Ned about his new hobby.

 

_“You’re in Drama Club? Awesome!”_ Ned had sounded genuinely cheerful as they talked on the phone. _“Well, not as awesome as building a three-thousand eight-hundred and three piece LEGO Death Star, but it’s pretty cool.”_

 

“Yeah. MJ is the director, so it’s going to be pretty cool and probably a bit quirky,” Peter said, smile evident in his voice. “If we survive her reign, of course.”

 

_“You have MJ as Decathlon captain_ and _your director? You’re facing a rollercoaster year, man. You might have fun, but at the same time you’re gonna die a little inside.”_

 

“She’s not that bad. I know she likes to observe people in crisis but she’s never tortured anyone on purpose.”

 

_“Isn’t that what directors are for?”_

 

“Maybe. She picked a comedy, though, not some bloody and miserable tragedy.” Now that he’d pointed it out, Peter found the thought a bit odd. MJ picking a comedy to direct when she could have gone for _Hamlet_ and Scandinavian depression. “Anyway, she hasn’t told us much about her plans yet. We’re having a pre-rehearsal meeting tomorrow morning before first period, at seven am sharp.”

 

_“Then get some sleep, Peter.”_ Ned sounded like his mom just then, Peter thought. _“You can’t be late when MJ is the boss.”_

 

Peter sighed in mock-exasperation. “I know, man. I know.”

 

Peter snapped back to reality from last night’s conversation. He shot a quick glance at his watch: his “Tour de France wannabe” speed improved his situation a bit but still had lost time to make up for. Taking a deep breath, he pedalled harder, amping up his efforts to reach Red Land High School on time. Maybe instead of Drama Club he should check if the school had a cycling club...

 

***

 

When he entered the kitchen, Volger was surprised to find his godson already sitting at the table eating cereal. Not that Alek had trouble  waking up early; for a teenager, he was dealing with weekday mornings surprisingly well. By the time they left for school, he was usually wide awake and eager as a hunting dog for the day ahead. Must be the after-effects of boarding school. Some days it appeared as though the poor boy had been trained rather than educated at that school; however, Volger _always_ rose before him. Most of the time he even managed to make his coffee before Alek appeared. Until today.

 

“Good morning.” The spoon hit the bottom of the bowl with a clank. “Sorry, I need to hurry.” The bowl was put into the sink. “I’ll do the dishes after school—” Alek had stepped into a sneaker already and reached for the other one. “—but I need to go now!”

 

Volger could only gape at the boy. “Now? But it’s only… Why— What’s the rush? Have you forgotten your homework? Don’t you need a ride?” he asked.

 

But Alek was already halfway out the door with his backpack in his hands. “I’ll take the bus. Have a nice day! Bye!”

 

“But… wai— Alek! Okay, fine, have a good day, whatever,” Volger mumbled underneath his large moustache.

 

He decided he might need a little chat with Alek later. Maybe much later. Like, “a cup of very strong coffee and a whole school day” later. Volger was a man of habits. No weird teenager behaviour would break his normal morning routine. For breakfast, he made himself a slice of toast and a cup of coffee. He drank it while reading the newspaper; a vital part of the day. He aspired to understand the US, and reading the news seemed a good way to do so. But sometimes he just felt this country was too much for him. To tell the truth, there were days when the whole situation could be quite overwhelming. He wasn’t complaining, not at all. He chose this—but from time to time he thought he’d bitten off more than he could chew. The country was huge and strange. Every day he had to work, chat, and live in a foreign language. He only used his native tongue when he read, dreamt, or talked to Alek. However, the boy usually kept to himself, and neither of them were particularly talkative. This didn’t make their situation any easier—far from it. If he wanted to be completely honest with himself, Volger didn’t exactly know how to act around Alek. One thing was sure: he didn’t wish to replace the boy’s father. That wasn’t his job.

 

But then again, what was? What did he sign up for when he decided to adopt the boy?

 

Alek was the son of Volger’s best friend. He could still remember the day when Franz called him, excitement palpable in his voice, and asked if he had time for coffee. If he concentrated hard enough, Volger could still conjure up the younger, thinner image of his best friend, Franz, sitting across the table from him and talking, talking, talking. His jovial, carefree tone as he spoke about everything that came to his mind. Volger remembered the way Franz had absentmindedly run his fingers along his moustache from time to time while talking. They were in their late twenties—they’d felt so mature back then, but now Volger wondered how young and naive they actually were. Franz had told him he was going to be a father—it sounded so surreal now. He had asked Volger to be the child’s godfather.

 

They were sitting on the terrace of a café in Vienna. It was a sunny day in May and Sophie was due in October, so there was still time to think about the christening. But Franz was so excited to break the news to Volger and he had really wanted to ask him to be the godfather; he just couldn’t wait.

 

“It’s a very important job, Ernst.” How he had tried to sound serious, but his eyes were smiling and his whole face was shining with glee. “Until now you only had to suffer through Christmas Day dinners with Sophie and me. Good days are over, old guy. From now on expect to be invited for birthdays too, and at every Christmas dinner there will be a restless little one squeaking with excitement.”

 

Volger smirked. “I won’t forget to shower them with useful and entertaining gifts like history books.”

 

“You’re going to be the little bean’s favourite godfather.”

 

“I’m going to be their only godfather.”

 

That sunny afternoon had never even hinted that one day being a godfather would become a much bigger responsibility than Christmas presents and occasional visits. Volger sat at the kitchen table thinking, his newspaper lying forgotten next to his plate. He looked out the window. Outside was a crisp and bright October morning with red and gold leaves covering the pavement. Suddenly it felt strange to think about a cup of coffee he’d had in Vienna sixteen years ago.

 

***

 

“Sorry for being a bit late,” Nora said while climbing into the passenger seat, “but at least we are still on time since we don’t need to pick Deryn up today.”

 

“Hm?” Volger said.

 

“She sent a text saying that she needed to get to school quite early so she’d take the bus today,” Nora explained while buckling her seatbelt and arranging her briefcase on her lap.

 

Volger knitted his brows. “Alek said the same thing, and now I’m starting to worry.”

 

“Why? Are you so afraid to be alone with me?” teased Nora.

 

“Very funny, Doctor Barlow.”

 

She leaned closer, smiling, encouraging him to kiss her softly on the lips. “You’re being extremely shy today, Mr. Volger.”

 

“I’m just thinking about Alek’s mysterious departure this morning. I wonder what he is up to now.”

 

“Can you keep wondering while driving, please?”

 

“Oh, yes, sorry,” With that, he started the engine.

 

Ever since Volger finally made up his mind to court Nora, carpooling became a regular thing between them. Each morning they headed to school together with Alek in the backseat and stopped a few houses down the street to pick Deryn up. Sometimes they spent the whole ride in comfortable, sleepy silence. Sometimes they listened to Deryn and Alek chatting about school, fencing, or whatever captured their interests. Once or twice they had tried to put on some music but couldn’t agree on a band, an album or even a song that everyone liked, so they stopped trying. On the whole, Ernst found this arrangement extremely practical.

 

“Alright, tell me.” Nora straightened an imaginary wrinkle on her skirt. “Why are you so worried about Alek?”

 

“Because I have no idea what’s going on in his mind!” After he’d said it, Volger felt it wasn’t entirely true. “Okay, I have a few ideas. But he rarely shares anything, not if I don’t ask him.”

 

“Then ask him.”

 

“You make it sound so easy. We’re talking about a teenager, Nora.”

 

“Oh yes, teenagers, such a horrible bunch. Don’t worry, he’s probably just injecting heroin into his eyeballs.”

 

“ _Was_?” Volger practically stood on the brakes. Luckily, nobody was behind them.

 

“Goodness!” gasped Nora. Her briefcase slipped off her lap, landing with a thud between her braced feet. “Now I regret joking with you.”

 

“I’m sorry, but that wasn’t funny. I mean, I’m sorry for stopping so ungracefully.”

 

A car pulled up behind them and honked, so Volger re-started the car.

 

“You’ve clearly never seen _Love, Actually_ , have you?” Nora retrieved her briefcase.

 

“Do you think Alek’s in love?” Now Volger was truly confused and a little bit worried. He wasn’t very confident when it came to questions of love; Nora Barlow could have written a novel about that.

 

“As far as I know, he’s not in love,” said Nora with an impatient sigh. “He’s in Drama Club.”

 

“Really?” If Volger wanted to be honest with himself, Drama Club didn’t sound so bad.

 

“He tried the audition and succeeded. He got a leading role, actually.” Nora smiled encouragingly at him. “Not the _leading_ leading role, because that’s Deryn, but he did pretty well.”

 

Volger couldn’t help but feel proud hearing that his godson mustered up the courage and in the end passed the audition with flying colours. “So, what is it? Is it a musical?”

 

“No, it’s Shakespeare actually.”

 

“Alright, that doesn’t make it sound less disturbing.”

 

“Have you got a problem with Shakespeare?” Nora’s tone was downright threatening, but Volger was sure she was just joking. Seventy percent sure.

 

“No, of course not. But just think about it: is Alek really the best person to play Shakespeare in English? He’s not even a native speaker.”

 

“Well, his English is impeccable, so…”

 

“Oh, that’s… that’s good.” Finally they reached their destination, the parking lot of Red Land High School. However, Volger had a few more questions. “Still, I don’t understand why he decided to do this. Was it Deryn’s idea?”

 

“As far as I know, it was Alek’s idea, and he somehow got Deryn involved, too. Come on, we should go,” Nora gently nudged the man before opening the door and getting out of the car. Volger couldn’t help but follow her example, but he kept bombarding her with any question  that came to mind.

 

“I still don’t get it. Why would he want to star in a high school play? What is he trying to accomplish?”

 

“He could have many reasons. Getting friends? Trying to fit in? Or maybe he just felt like he had too much free time on his hands.”

 

“He already has fencing and basketball practices, and let’s not forget school and homework,” Volger countered while they were walking towards the entrance. “Fitting a play into his schedule, well, that will be a nice balancing act.”

 

“He’ll manage.”

 

“I wish I could share your optimism.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him. During the rehearsals, at least.” When Volger shot her a questioning glance, she casually added, “I am the choreographer of the play, you know.”

 

“Nora. I didn’t even know you could dance.”

 

“Since you never asked…”

 

“Please, don’t turn it into an argument. I’m still in shock.”

 

“Oh, don’t be. It’ll be alright.” She caught his hand, briefly squeezed it, then let go. “Now, we still have time for a hot drink. Coffee for you, tea for me. It’ll do you good.”

 

“You know what will do me good?” Volger stopped and pulled her behind a tree planted next to the path leading up to the school building. “A kiss,” he gave her a small, tender peck, “and a date to go dancing with you.”

 

“Why, Mr Volger, I didn’t know you could dance,” Nora said with a teasing smile.

 

“Well, you never asked…”

 

Shakespeare and baffling teenagers momentarily forgotten, Volger stole another kiss from Nora before the two of them entered the school.

 

***

 

The morning had been going well for Deryn so far. She got up so early she had time to eat breakfast together at the table with her mother and Aunt Becca, a rare treat nowadays. Since this school year had begun, Deryn had developed the unfortunate habit of oversleeping, which consequently required a balancing act of eating while getting dressed. Today, however, she found herself pleasantly alert and ready for Drama Club. The whole thing was Alek’s idea, let him be overexcited. He had dragged her into this because he didn’t want to attend the audition alone, and what happened? Of course he got the role of Orsino. Even more surprising? Somehow Deryn landed the role of Viola.

 

Oops.

 

She definitely didn’t plan on becoming the leading lady of the play. See? Totally Alek’s fault—and he had dared to congratulate her on it!

 

In the end, she didn’t complain, nor did she try to give her role back. She simply accepted her fate and decided to play along. After all, Drama Club didn’t sound so bad. She vaguely remembered that Shakespeare’s plays had a lot of duels in them—maybe all those years of fencing practice would pay off. Although she couldn’t recall if Viola had a duelling scene or not. The thought that maybe she should have read _Twelfth Night_ crossed Deryn’s mind but she shrugged it off. She would have a lot of time to pay attention to the text—later. Right now, despite the way-too-early hour, she tried to focus on the meeting and the director.

 

“Hi. My name’s Michelle Jones but my friends call me MJ. So, if you do your job and arrive punctually to the rehearsals, you can call me MJ. If not, I’ll likely sack you from the show. We’re doing this seriously or we’re not doing it at all.”

 

Deryn had to admit that she liked MJ’s cocky attitude.

 

“I wanted to meet you all before the read-through. Without teachers, just this once.” MJ paused and looked around at them all. “I’ll talk about the play and what I had in mind later; plenty of time for that. What you need to know now is that they wouldn’t let me choose _Titus Andronicus_ . They wanted a comedy, so I picked _Twelfth Night_. Enjoy the cross-dressing.”

 

Now Deryn remembered! This was the one where the leading lady, Viola, pretended to be a guy. Sounded like fun.

 

“We’ll return to Shakespeare at the read-through. Now, I’d like to introduce your stage managers, Stan and Lee.”

 

Two boys stood up and waved at the crew. One of them was tall, pale and skinny, while the other was short, with a broad smile and even broader shoulders. They reminded Deryn of Terence Hill and Bud Spencer, funnily enough. She made a mental note not to call them Terry and Buddy.

 

“They’re going to supervise the backstage crew: Kamala, Hannah, Sam, Erik, Peter, and Joe.”

 

They all awkwardly stood up from their seats and Deryn eyed them curiously. She knew Kamala and Hannah from Algebra, and she had the same Spanish class as Peter. She’d passed Erik, who was a junior, a few times in the corridor, and she was quite sure that Joe was a senior. He looked like one. Sam, on the other hand… she looked like a typical freshman.

 

After the backstage crew sat back down, MJ introduced the actors. It was time for Deryn to stand up, look around, and be looked at in turn. She was never the one for attention but it felt alright. Not to mention that by agreeing to play Viola, she _had_ signed up to be watched by the whole school. While dressed as a boy.

 

Deryn looked at Alek (he appeared slightly pale but had a genuine smile on his face) before her gaze wandered to the others. When their eyes met, she shared a smile with Lilit, the girl playing Olivia. Deryn had been attending Spanish class with Lilit for a year now but she hadn’t noticed how nice her smile was till just now; she especially liked the way that it reached her dark brown eyes.

 

So far, the morning had been going well for Deryn. She had a Spanish quiz ahead, but still, she felt oddly light-hearted and cheerful. After the meeting they flooded the corridors like trout but soon they broke up into smaller groups. Drifting towards the Spanish lab, Deryn, this happy trout, led her fellow fish, Alek, Peter, and Lilit, in the current of school life.

 

Then Flash happened.

 

She could hardly have missed the boy since he bellowed right next to her ear. “Going backdoor now, Penis Parker?”

 

Deryn frowned. There was no place for bullies in her pleasant morning.

 

“He means backstage, he’s just stupid,” she said to Alek in a loud, nasty voice.

 

“What? Got new friends, Parker?” Now Flash focused his attention on them. “German newbie and Scottish freak?”

 

“I’m Austrian, actually,” Alek stated dryly. “You know, the country without kangaroos.”

 

“Oh, I know,” Flash’s voice was dripping with malice. “I know who you are. Why you came here. No wonder you and Penis are such great pals now. You would make a pretty team. The Orphans Club.”

 

“Yeah, we could have T-shirts. Whatever,” Deryn shrugged. “Fuck off, Thompson. Let’s go, Alek.”

 

Flash whistled. “Think you’re the boss, do you? Is he your pet or something?”

 

Both Alek and Deryn was ready to retort with something offensive but Peter beat them to it.

 

“Leave her alone, Flash.”

 

“Whoa, attaboy! You can’t stand up for yourself but now you’re a knight in shining armor? Did your mommy teach you to do that?” Flash snickered. “Sorry, forgot you don’t have one.”

 

“Oi, Thompson, shut the hell up!” Deryn finally lost her temper.

 

Flash should have stopped but he couldn’t resist. “No, I’ve got a few more things to tell Parker,” he said as he shoved Peter into the wall.

 

It wasn’t a very hard shove, but it wasn’t intended to be; he evidently meant to push Peter over the edge with his mocking and physical abuse. He was quite surprised when Deryn landed a strong punch to his nose. He staggered back, muttering and cursing under his breath, his hand grasping his painfully throbbing nose.

 

Deryn felt smug for five seconds. She shrugged Alek’s hand off her shoulder (he had grabbed her just two seconds late, she’d already hit Flash), and was ready to turn away and mind her own business, when out of the blue, Mr. Rigby’s harsh voice halted her.

 

“Ms. Sharp! Boys! The principal’s office, now.”


	2. Meet The Parents (Or What You Will)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/165269548@N03/47450894991/)

 

Tony Stark couldn’t imagine what Peter got himself into this time. Well, that was wrong; as he drove to Red Land High, he’d already managed to come up with twelve different scenarios, each of them more grandiose and unlikely than the last. He considered a boat incident: maybe Peter accidentally sank the school’s boat in the middle of the school’s pond, but managed to bring everyone to shore safely though it meant risking his own life. Peter would totally do something like that, Tony was sure. He made a mental note to have a chat with the kid about boats, ferries, frigates and what not.

 

Then he reminded himself that the school had neither a boat nor a lake to sail in.

 

Still, trust the kid to get into impossible situations. Tony had known him long enough to realise it was better be prepared for the most surprising things. Not that Peter was a bad kid, far from it. He always had good intentions, and he was clever—so clever. However, sometimes he could be a bit clumsy. Things didn’t always work out for him. He himself called it the Parker luck. Thanks to this infamous unluckiness “be prepared” slowly but surely became Tony’s motto. He wondered if Disney’d already trademarked it (probably).

 

When he barged into the principal’s office, Tony found an interesting little group inside. There sat Peter, with a tall, short-haired, blonde girl between him and a pale, green-eyed boy about the same age. Behind the boy stood a forty-something man with a shocking moustache, and right next to him a woman was tapping her fingers on the back of the girl’s seat. Oh, and the principal was there, too.

 

“Hey, Pete, you alright?” Tony refocused his attention on the kid who only nodded as a reply to his question. He didn’t look hurt, though, and that was a good start. “Ladies. Gentlemen.” This was all the greeting Tony Stark could offer to these people. No need to get too friendly with them too soon. What if that pale boy hurt Peter? He seemed like an okay kid but looks could be deceiving. “I got a call that Peter was in trouble.”

 

“Erm, yes. Thank you for joining us, Mr Stark.” The principal cleared his throat. “I learnt from Mr. Rigby that a fight took place today. I got the impression that Eugene Thompson provoked it; his parents were also called in. Right now he’s  being checked out by the school nurse as he appears to have a broken nose.”

 

The girl let out a small, triumphant huff, but it only earned her a disapproving look from the adults.

 

“I’ll deal with Mr Thompson later,” the principal went on. “First I’d like to hear your version of the events.”

 

“It was me, sir,” said the girl. “I hit Eugene because he was being a bully. He called Peter names. He said… bad stuff about us. Ugly things. Then he pushed Peter, so I hit him. Alek tried to stop me but I was quicker.” It explained her proud attitude. Was it wrong for Tony to immediately start to like her?

 

Now the principal’s attention turned to Peter. “What did he say to you?”

 

As he’d positioned himself behind Peter’s seat, Tony couldn’t read the kid’s expression, but based solely on the way his shoulders slumped, he could tell that Peter felt uncomfortable.

 

“I’d rather not repeat that, sir.”

 

“I don’t want to point fingers but that guy started the whole fight by being mean to Peter and then pushing him,” the unknown boy said, joining the conversation. Tony immediately noticed the foreign accent in his speech. “Peter asked him to stop it, and I made a half-hearted attempt to stop Deryn but…”

 

“He had it coming?” the principal finished the sentence with a questioning tone.

 

The girl vehemently nodded. “He totally did!”

 

“Deryn,” the woman warned the girl gently.

 

The principal sighed. “Peter, you’re a smart boy. Alek, you’re a good boy. Deryn, you’re a… an impulsive but kind girl. But it’s zero tolerance week. You know what that means.”

 

“Couldn’t you make an exception?” It was the woman’s turn to protest. The girl, Deryn, moved her head in a way that suggested she was trying to hide a smirk. “Clearly, Deryn deserves the punishment—“ That diminished Deryn’s confidence and her shoulders slumped. “—but Peter and Alek didn’t do anything bad, obviously.”

 

“Zero tolerance,” the principal repeated. “I’m sorry but there are no exceptions.”

 

“And how are they punished for this?” Tony asked with a frown.

 

“A day-long suspension, starting now.”

 

“Suspension? Really?” He couldn’t believe his ears. “They didn’t want anything but be left in peace and now they’re not allowed to come to school for a whole day? What about detention? Can’t they get detention instead?”

 

“It’s zero-tolerance week,” Peter explained with a sad sigh. “We have it every term; zero-tolerance week is meant to discourage us from future misdemeanors. It’s like double or nothing, except that you get suspension for everything, so it’s always double.”

 

“But you didn’t do anything!” Tony secretly wished that Peter _had_ done something. He hated injustice and getting a day-long suspension for being bullied very much sounded like it. “What about that kid? That Ewan? Eugene? Who cares. What about him?”

 

“He’ll get his punishment as well,” the principal answered in a clipped tone. “Now, if there isn’t anything else… Thank you for meeting me.”

 

Outside they stood in a semi-consciously formed circle, looking at each other expectantly, except Peter, who fixed his gaze on his shoes like they were the most interesting things in the world. Seeing him in full “kicked puppy” state, Tony wanted to go back to the principal, grab him by the collar and shake the man until he came to his senses. He couldn’t believe Peter got punished when he was obviously the victim here.

 

On the other hand, it might not have been a good idea to play out the “I’m the rich guy who does whatever he wants” card, so no principal-shaking for him today. But what should they do then? Everyone looked unsure about how to proceed, and Tony wasn’t a successful businessman for nothing: he always knew when to take the lead. He'd led hundreds of meetings; he could absolutely organise three teens and their respective caregivers. He would give the speech of his life to them.

 

Tony cleared his throat, just like the principal had done not so long ago. Everyone looked at him—except Peter, of course, but he seemed to pay attention as well. Good.

 

“Ladies, gentlemen,” he started, “I know I shouldn’t encourage violence, so let’s talk about standing up for each other instead. Selflessly protecting someone is good.”

 

“Excuse me,” the man with the odd moustache interrupted him. “Are you going to contradict the principal?” His disapproving look reminded Tony of his old English teacher from elementary school. Even though it felt like elementary school had happened a thousand years ago, the old bat had imprinted herself into Tony’s memories for eternity.

 

“Contradict? No,” he replied casually, “I’d merely like to emphasize a few points. So, where was I?” He turned to the pale boy. “Trying to prevent a fight is good.” Now Tony looked at Peter and tried to tell him how proud he was of him for being mature enough not to punch that pain-in-the-ass kid in the face. Because yes, that nose-breaking punch was impressive. And yes, it was very important to stand up for yourself. But… “Not giving in to provocation is also very good. So, kids, you did the right thing, even if some methods were _questionable_ . But you did okay: took the dog to the clinic, you raised the hybrid puppies… Alright, probably not my best analogy.” Probably not the best _speech_ of his life after all. Where did that puppy metaphor come from? Would it feel awkward to cut it short now?

 

Actually, the whole situation was becoming very weird, successful businessman or not. Here he stood, surrounded by strangers, and with every second that passed he felt less sure of himself. Maybe a different approach was needed.

 

“I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced,” Tony said, addressing nobody in particular. “My name is Tony Stark. Considering the situation we’re in, let me guess, you must be her mother,” he nodded to the woman.

 

“No, not a relative, just a family friend. I’m only scoring fifth on her emergency contact list.”

 

She was fifth and she made it first to the principal’s office? Ouch.

 

“She’s my Biology teacher, actually,” Deryn explained.

 

“And she’s our neighbour,” the stranger boy (Alex, maybe?) added, which lead to Peter chiming in.

 

“Yeah, and she’s also the choreographer of the play.”

 

Everyone turned to Moustache-Man expectantly, like the last piece of the puzzle to get the full picture lay at his hands. He pretended not to notice the sudden interest in his person. In Tony’s opinion, this puzzle was scattered more and more with every comment, but still, he wanted to hear what MM had to say about her.

 

“I am waiting,” so-not-Deryn’s-mother said as sweetly as a rose thorn.

 

Something that Tony couldn’t really identify flashed in the man’s eyes. Was it mischief, perhaps? But how could someone with such a curious moustache be mischievous?

 

“She is my... snail.”

 

Tony mouthed “What. On. Earth.” but the others look utterly confused, too.

 

“Ah! I see!” Alex? Alec?.. whoever... grinned. The penny had dropped. “He means sunshine! You know, the expression ‘you’re my sunshine’ is a bit different in German… Okay, whatever.”

 

“Why, I didn’t take you for a romantic, Mr. Volger.” This deadpan face and tone with a hint of accent? The woman was so British Tony wondered how he hadn’t realised it sooner.

 

“And can I ask who are you to this young man?” A-something boy gave a pained expression at Moustache-Man’s choice of words, but the question amused Tony greatly. Young man? Seriously? He was an interesting one, Tony gave him that. “You are his father, I presume?”

 

For a second Tony actually wondered what was the right answer to that. “Not exactly. We are neighbors. Technically.”

 

“He means we live on the same street: me on the shady end, him on the fancy end,” Peter added helpfully.

 

“And who are _you_?” Good move, Stark. The best defense is a good offense. “The music teacher, I presume.”

 

“I’m Alek’s godfather.” Moustache-Man offered his hand. “Ernst Volger.”

 

They made a pretty picture. The dancing Biology teacher. The man with the strange taste in moustaches and with a strange German lilt to his words. The pale boy with almost aristocratic features and pacifist moves. Peter “I Am Only Talking To My Sneakers From Now On” Parker. The hot-tempered girl with the hard fist. Tony Stark, genius, scientist, philanthropist, businessman, neighbour, and not-exactly-his-dad.

 

Gosh, they looked stupid just standing there.

 

“So, first trip to the principal’s because kid got in trouble?” Tony tried to address Ernst “Moustache-Man” Volger in a friendlier tone. The situation was clearly new for the man. “Congratulations for making it til October!”

 

“Does this happen regularly to you?” Volger eyed Peter very suspiciously, which made Tony want to draw a sword and advance on him. Or protect Peter.

 

“No! Pete’s a good kid, best, actually.” His lashed, sword-like, at the man. Swoosh-swoosh! Or was he protecting Peter from Volger’s sword? He really needed to look up sword-fights. Or consult a fencer.

 

Or he just really needed to stop thinking in novel-like scenarios.

 

Not-Deryn’s-mum was the first to get tired of this exasperating mental sword fight. Where was the infamous British calmness now? In her defense, Volger had just called her a snail, and Tony sort of acted like some kind of a human helicopter. They might have been a wee bit ridiculous.

 

“Since you asked so nicely, my name is Doctor Nora Barlow. I’m the Biology teacher who has just spent her free period at the principal’s office, and we should move on unless you all want to attend my next class, which starts in about twenty minutes.” Who had the sword now, huh? “So may I ask you,” she addressed Tony in her cool, passive-aggressive tone, “considering you’re an expert: what do we do now?”

 

Surprisingly, Deryn was ready with the answer: “Well, my Aunt Shona works from home, so the boys could come over and camp in my room for the day,” she suggested.

 

“Wait a minute.” Pale boy knitted his brows. He surely meant to look very thoughtful but, in Tony’s opinion, he looked a bit funny instead. But in a nice way. For a moment, he actually reminded Tony of Peter when he was concentrating on his homework oh-so-hard. “If she works from home, why didn’t they call her in?”

 

“You know how it is,” Deryn shrugged. “They always call Mum first. She’s always at work, of course, so they pick a random aunt, and today they picked Aunt Becca, who was at work, too. But before they could have called Aunt Shona, Doctor Barlow was already here, free period and everything. So don’t fret, Sherlock, Aunt Shona’s at home. It’s not a trick to trap you two in my bedroom.” That silenced Alek, making him and Peter turn beet red in an instant.

 

“As your Biology teacher, should I be worried?” Nora just-a-Biology-teacher Barlow asked with a mocking smile. “Jokes aside, Deryn’s idea is practical and reasonable.”

 

“But wouldn’t be that a huge imposition?” Volger fussed.

 

“Parking our ass—” Under Barlow’s warning glance, Deryn seemed to quickly think better and changed her answer. “—assets while supervised by my aunt? No, I’m sure it’ll be fine with my family. At least nobody will shout at me for fighting while you’re there.”

 

“Good point. If it’s fine with Ms. Biology and Mr. Volger, too, I’ll take the little ones to their destination,” Tony offered, “and check if said aunt is truly at home and ready to babysit them.”

 

“I don’t think I have a vote here,” Barlow said, giving him a “still-not-their-mother” look, “but still, practical and reasonable, too.”

 

“Fine,” shrugged Volger. “Alek, I’ll pick you up after work. Call me if you need me.” He offered a hand to Tony again. What was this hand-shaking with Germans? “Thank you for driving them, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Don’t mention it, but please, call me Tony.” He shook the extended hand. “We’re in this together, we should stick together.”

 

Volger’s face screamed: I want to leave this planet, now! Barlow snickered like she hoped she would live to see the day when Tony called him Ernie. Well, Tony enjoyed a challenge.

 

***

 

The journey to the Sharps’ home was, to say the least, jolly.

 

Tony was driving, Deryn was navigating and the boys were clinging to their seatbelts. Not that Tony was driving fast, but still, they doubted they would ever reach their destination. Deryn had unique navigating skills.

 

“Okay, now turn left when you see the big house with the treehouse in the garden,” she instructed.

 

“Couldn’t you just say which street?” Tony rolled his eyes but turned left when he spotted the treehouse (lucky thing that only one treehouse could be found in Maple Street).

 

“Every street has a boring name. It’s much funnier this way,” the girl argued. “Also, you could always turn on your GPS.”

 

“Fair point,” Alek muttered, sharing a half-smile with Peter. So far, life had been silent in the backseat. The two boys were mainly just watching the amusing little show performed by Deryn and Tony.

 

“So, you are in the play, too? Both of you? Hm?” Tony decided to check in the unfamiliar kids before he dropped Peter off at a stranger’s house. Not that he was too familiar with Peter’s friends: he met Ned only a few times and faced MJ only the once. He remembered the brief conversation he’d had with Doctor Barlow while they were waiting for Deryn to notify her aunt about their arrival.

 

Turning to Nora, he offered an apology, “I’m sorry if I appeared rude towards you. It wasn’t my intention.” He wondered if he should bow slightly. The woman looked so strict, so composed—like a queen.

 

“Apology accepted. Also, on a side note, I’ve seen worse things from overprotective parents.” What was that? A wee little smile in the corner of her mouth?

 

“You two are fierce girls,” Tony nodded towards Deryn, before he asked jokingly, “are you sure you’re not her mother?”

 

“Positive.”

 

A queen—or a soldier,  Tony couldn’t decide which.

 

He was usually good at getting along with people. Tony Stark could be funny, entertaining, easy-going, generous, and people loved all these qualities in a man. He could be amiable and good company when he wanted to be, but it didn’t mean he liked all the people he met. Far from it. After some bad experiences, like broken friendships and trusting the wrong person, Tony became distant in a way. He might have been smiling a lot, but he liked only a few. However, he cared for those people very much.

 

These four people, even the man with the incredible moustache, appeared quite likeable at first sight. Tony hoped he was right about this because Peter deserved (and needed) only the best in his life. It was one of the many reasons Tony constantly asked himself how he had managed _not_ to disappoint the kid so far? A mystery, really. The least he could do was to make sure that, if Peter accidentally ended up befriending German kid and fight club girl, they wouldn’t disappoint him later.

 

“Who do you play? Are you actors at all? Or backstagers?” Tony enquired.

 

“Actors,” replied Deryn. “I’ll play Viola if MJ doesn’t sack me for missing the first rehearsal.”

 

“She’s going to kill us,” Peter groaned. Tony had to admit, kid had a taste for being a fatalist. “Or kick our sorry butts at least.”

 

“She won’t. I already texted her about it. See, I can be very forward-thinking.” Deryn lifted her chin, looking very proud. “Also, I bet I can kick harder.”

 

“Violence doesn’t solve everything,” Alek reminded her, giving Tony the opportunity to steer the conversation back to the starting point.

 

“And who do you play?”

 

“Orsino.”

 

“Do you plan to use your German accent to form the character or will you try to ignore it?”

 

“I haven’t thought about that,” Alek admitted. “But it’s not a bad idea! Thank you, Mr. Stark, I’ll consider it. On a side note, I’d like to mention that I’m Austrian, not German. If anyone is interested.”

 

He was a polite kid, that’s for sure. _One point to Gryffindor,_ Tony thought. He decided to keep on interrogating the boy with a little help from Shakespeare.

 

“MJ could have picked _Measure for Measure_ by Shakespeare. It’s a less known play, I think, but it actually takes place in Vienna,” he explained. “On the other hand, it’s kind of a kinky story, now that I think about it, so you might be a bit too young for that.”

 

Alek was hooked. “I used to live in _Wien_ … Vienna,” he quickly corrected himself, then went on, “with my parents, but we moved away, to the country when I was eight.”

 

“So, not your first flit,” Tony nodded thoughtfully. “And what are your first impressions? Comparing Maine to Austria?”

 

The poor boy looked quite taken aback. “Ummm, Austria is much greener.”

 

“Sorry, stupid question.”

 

“No offense but almost the ninety percent of Maine is covered by forests,” Peter pointed out. “This is literally the greenest state of America.”

 

“Yeah, but nevertheless, Austria felt greener,” replied Alek, his voice a bit uncertain now. “I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s because I used to live right next to a forest and my old school was in the middle of a forest, and now I live in a town.”

 

“In the middle of a forest?” Peter gaped. “Sounds cool!”

 

Deryn chuckled. “Like a fairy tale, Hans and Gretel?” Suddenly she squeaked. “Sorry, I forgot! You should have turned left there.”

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant Sharp,” Tony grunted before backing the car and turning left.

 

“That’s _Hänsel und_ _Gretel_ , actually,” Alek corrected the girl. “Anyhow, I guess my opinion of Maine will change after the first school trip.”

 

“Unless I get us suspended from that, too,” Deryn grimaced. “Now turn left. Fuck, no, right, turn right!”

 

“Hey, grown-up language is for grown-ups, okay?” Tony warned her.

 

“So, how did you and Peter meet?”  
  
Tony derived great satisfaction from Alek’s question. Normally he didn’t like to be interrogated, but the boy sounded genuinely interested. Also, he appreciated the way Alek changed the topic from his home country. He answered in a light, conversational tone: “He would have gotten run over by a car if I hadn’t saved his neck.”

 

“You always forget to mention that I was trying to save a kitten,” Peter protested.

 

“Excuse me, how could I forget that eight-year-old Bikey-boy risked his life to save a cat?”

 

“Bikey?” Alek asked back, brows knitted in confusion.

 

“Bikey because he was the kid who kept cycling up and down the street all summer. Every day I saw him riding his bicycle from the window of my office. And my living room. And my front garden. Oh, and my front porch. He was just everywhere.”

 

“Uncle Ben taught me how to ride a bike and when summer vacation started he said I was ready to practice alone. So I did.”

 

“Of course you did,” Tony nodded with a half-smile. “Then one day you decided to play superhero and jumped off your bike right in front a car to save a cat.”

 

“In my defense, it was a really small kitten. Small and cute.”

 

“We call small kittens _Autodromkatzerl_ in Austria,” Alek put in. “Word for word, it means bumper car kittens. I think it’s quite… nice.”

 

“Can you repeat the word, please?”

 

“ _Autodromkatzerl._ ”

 

“It does sound nice,” Peter agreed enthusiastically.

 

“I can’t believe they suspended two toddlers,” Tony groaned.

 

“Only because it’s zero-tolerance week,” Deryn was quick to remind him.

 

“I should have brought Pepper,” he shook his head. “She’s better at dealing with directors, principals and what-not. But sadly, one of us has to actually run the company, so she’s in Hong Kong right now, working.”

 

He knew Pepper wouldn’t be home for another two days, and that when she arrived, she would be tired and very likely fed up with Hong Kong—and with big cities, in general. He liked to live in Rockwell for many reasons, and one of them was that it was just the right size. Comfortably cozy. Ten years ago Tony had bought a house here with the intention of becoming a sort of modern Persephone, planning to spend half a year in Rockwell, half a year in his apartment in New York. Soon he grew to like this town more and more, which eventually led to moving into his Sherwood Street house permanently.

 

Another one of those many reasons was that Pepper liked Rockdwell, too. When they finally admitted their love for each other (much to the delight of his annoying employees), Tony had worried that his brilliant and beautiful girlfriend wouldn’t want to live in such a remote place. He worried in vain. Pepper called his house “an island of peace”—a very peculiar expression for a place where AC/DC roared from the stereos, screwdrivers were hiding under the sofa pillows, and every corner smelled like pizza. Even with all these things, it felt like home.

 

“Turn onto Alice Street, and the third house on the right will be the Sharp residence!”

 

They were nearing the edge of the suburbs. Tony knew if he had kept driving straight ahead instead of turning left, they would have passed the mall and the gas station and reached the area of the four-story blocks. This town had two faces—or more like, two sides of one face. Funnily enough, a gas station was the nose between them. The small flats and the big houses lit up every night as a zillion sparkling eyes. And if you looked at the map of Rockdwell and had a little creativity, you could see that slight curve of Portland Road and picture it as a smile.

 

“Nice house,” Tony commented.

 

“Thanks. When my brother Jasper came home during summer vacation, Aunt Shona made him re-paint the walls. I’ll tell him his efforts weren’t in vain.”

 

“He could have used the Tom Sawyer method,” Alek suggested.

 

As much as he liked to debate about literature, Tony Stark was a busy man, and he still had work to be done. It was time to stop playing delivery boy, and step on the gas pedal.

 

But he needed to say a few words to Peter beforehand.

 

“Hey, you two go ahead,” he said.

 

“Sure.” Alek’s hand was already on the handle. “Thank you for the lift, Mr. Stark. Have a nice day! Come on, Deryn.”

 

“Come on, Deryn,” the girl mimicked him mockingly. “I swear I’ll smack his patronizing head… Thank you, Mr. Stark. Bye!”

 

Tony unfastened is seatbelt and tried to turn around to gain a better view of Peter.

 

“Mr. Stark, I’m sorry you had to come all the way out to the school, then drive us here.” Of course the kid started to babble the instant he was alone with him. “You shouldn’t have— I’d have been fine— I was—”

 

“Calm down, kid.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“I know you are. What I wanted to say—” But what did he want to say, really? “Look, Peter…” Tony was good with words, most of the time, but right now he had no idea what he was leading up to. “These new friends of yours, they’re okay kids.”

 

“We aren’t exactly friends. We just sort of happened to be at the same place at the same time, and Flash was his usual self but Deryn was awesome, end of story.”

 

“Alright, kid, whatever you say.” It was starting to feel very uncomfortable keeping his neck in such a awkward angle. “Look, you can come over to my place, if you want to. You don’t have to stay here.”

 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark, but I don’t want to bother you.”

 

“It would be no problem,” Tony hoped he’d sounded reassuring, not pushy. He wanted to make sure that Peter knew he was there but he didn’t mean to breathe down his neck all the time. He thought of himself as the friendly neighbour (without the perverse undertones). “And they’re practically strangers...”

 

“I’ll be fine with them. They _are_ okay guys, you said so.”

 

“Alright, but call me if you change your mind.”

 

“Thank you,” Peter said quietly. Despite his shy voice, he looked ready to open the door and join the others.

 

“Cheer up, Pete. One day you’ll laugh at this.”

 

***

 

Deryn’s room turned out to be surprisingly tidy. The walls were a shade of periwinkle blue, decorated only with two posters ( _Game of Thrones_ and P!nk), and a charcoal sketch of Amelia Earhart. An airplane model hung from the ceiling, another one sat on the shelf above the bed, and one only half-done was occupying the majority of Deryn’s desk. The furniture mostly filled the room, with only a few steps of clear space from the door to the desk.

 

“Well, you can’t dance in here, but make yourself at home,” she gestured around. “You can sit on the bed. It’s very comfy.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Later we can go down and watch a movie or something, if you’d like,” Deryn said, scratching the nape of her neck. She hadn’t thought about what would they do for a whole day. “Maybe if we solve maths problems very loudly, Aunt Shona will stop glaring at me. She thinks Mum should hold me with a stronger hand. Have me on a shorter leash. Whatever.”

 

“Maybe if you stopped punching people you didn’t like...?” Alek suggested innocently.

 

“Aunt Shona should mind her own business. You too, bum-rag. Stop lecturing me.”

 

“Stop fighting,” Peter said in a kind but firm tone. “Please. Or lend me a copy of Shakespeare’s works while you two fight it out.”

 

“Do you want to read _Twelfth Night_?”

 

“No, I want to read _Measure for Measure_.”

 

“Just because Mr. Stark said we were too young for it?” Deryn asked incredulously.

 

“No.” Okay, that was a blatant lie. “Yes. In a way. He can’t pique my interest then give me the you’re-too-young-for-that speech. It’s not fair.”

 

“Good point,” she said. “Also, I’m relieved. I was starting to get worried that you’re too mature for your age.”

 

“How come Mr. Stark is your emergency contact?” Alek turned to Peter. “I know Doctor Barlow is listed as Deryn’s emergency contact because they’re neighbours on good terms with each other, but is it a common thing here, to become an emergency contact for kids from the neighbourhood?”

 

Peter took a deep breath and steadied himself. He looked like a rebel, readying himself for interrogation and being taken apart. “It was Mr. Stark’s idea, actually. Last year I became very sick at school.” Deryn thought it was funny, the way Peter’s ears reddened, like being sick was an awkward and unnatural thing. Then she remembered that Flash had called the boy Vomity Parker for a whole month after the incident. She couldn’t comprehend how Flash became so popular without any sense of humor. “They called May to take me home but she couldn’t come right away. When she finally arrived, I felt really really awful. Of course, it wasn’t her fault, but she felt bad for it anyway. Then somehow the story came up when I stayed over at Mr. Stark’s house one day, and he suggested that if May trusted him to host me for a night, maybe he could be trusted with becoming my second emergency contact. May was reluctant at first, but she agreed in the end.”

 

Deryn had known Peter for more than a year now. She knew that Peter had lived with his uncle and his aunt until his uncle died shortly before they started high school. The local newspaper wrote about the death of Ben Parker, a well-respected man who was shot by a burglar. She remembered Aunt Rebecca reading the article at the breakfast table. It said that the man had been found by his nephew, and after Deryn met Peter at high school, it didn’t take too long to put two and two together.

 

“Tell me if I should mind my own business, but you two seem to be pretty close. Why do you call him Mr. Stark?”

 

“I wouldn’t call him a friend. Ned is my friend. Mr Stark is more like… a mentor to me. Sort of.” A small smile appeared on Peter’s face, like suddenly something funny had come up in his mind. “Sometimes, when Mr Stark is complaining and telling me to call him Tony— But it feels strange to call him Tony, so usually I just stick to Mr. Stark— Anyway, when he complains about that, I call him Mr. Ironman—or just Ironman.”

 

“Wait a minute. You mean Ironman as in A. I. Ironman?” Alek looked at Peter with eyes comically wide. “Are you telling me that Mr. Stark is _the_ Tony Stark?”

 

“Anthony Edward Stark, as in A. I. Ironman,” nodded Peter. “The one and only.”

 

“You know Tony Stark.” Now Alek seemed to be in a sort of ecstatic trance. “You’re the neighbour of A. I. Ironman?”

 

“AI as short for artificial intelligence?” Deryn chimed in, not quite following the conversation.

 

“Yes. No. Yes! I guess,” Peter replied. “I mean, it’s a pen-name and he writes science-fiction novels, so it’s kind of a joke.”

 

“Who writes science-fiction novels?”

 

“A. I. Ironman, alias Tony Stark,” the boys said in unison. Great. In thirty seconds the conversation got out of Deryn’s hands.

 

“I thought he was a businessman. He mentioned running a company, didn’t he?”

 

“He owns Stark Industries, a company that produces wheelchairs, prosthetic limbs etcetera. He’s a scientist, a real inventor, he designs new devices and upgrades pre-existing ones. I think it’s an amazing job!” Deryn worried that Peter would suffocate; he was talking so rapidly he seemed to forget he needed to breathe. “He’s like some sci-fi superhero. Actually, Miss Potts, his fiancé, is the one who runs the company. She’s the CEO, so she travels a lot, always negotiating contracts, finding new investors, and you know, doing other kinds of businessey things.”

 

Deryn wondered why this modern day Leonardo da Vinci preferred to live in Rockdwell when he obviously had the money to buy a farm in Texas, and probably a summer house in Miami, too.

 

“I didn’t even know he wasn’t just a friendly neighbor until he helped me to fix my bike and I asked him what he did for a living. Then he explained it to me, and it’s really mind-blowing, huh? I was nine then, and ever since I’ve wanted to become an inventor, too.”

 

One could have easily assumed that Peter was obsessed with Tony Stark. Deryn knew better. She’d fallen in love with flying when her father took her on a hot air balloon ride as a present for her seventh birthday. Her soul had been touched by it, captured forever, just as Peter was touched by Stark’s work. He respected the man—and adored him, too.

 

“Then I found the YouTube video of the press conference where he announced that he was A. I. Ironman, the world-famous author… But May didn’t let me read his books until I turned ten.” The other two waited, interested, but there was no more. Peter suddenly appeared very self-conscious. “Sorry,” he stammered, “I guess I got carried away.”

 

“No, no, it was really cool,” Alek said, his eyes shining with excitement. “I learnt first that he was a writer, then later that writing novels was only a hobby for him. But I didn’t know much about this inventing business of his, so all of this was very… _Scheibe_ , what’s that word?”

 

“Enlightening?” Deryn suggested.

 

“Yes, thank you! It was all very enlightening.”

 

“So, enlighten me,” Deryn hoped she would find a point where she could join the conversation as she didn’t know Mr. Stark’s books at all. “Does he write fantasy novels, too?”

 

“No.”

 

“Pity,” she pouted. “He could write The Twelve Fighting Princesses. You know, a retold _Twelve Dancing Princesses_ , with less dancing but more fighting.”

 

“Fighting who?” asked Peter.

 

“Everyone! Zombies, princes, dragons, each other… I don’t care as long as they are fighting.”

 

“You watch way too much _Game of Thrones_ for a fifteen-year-old.”

 

“Ha-ha. Very funny, Alek.” Deryn stuck out her tongue. “You watch _Game of Thrones_ , too, and you aren’t sixteen either.”

 

“But I will be. Very soon. Whereas you won’t be for months,” he dragged out the _oh_ in months.

 

“Trust me, being is sixteen is far less adventurous than it sounds.” Peter tried to sound neutral, but he failed and cracked a smile in the end.

 

“Show-off,” Deryn muttered.

 

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he shrugged apologetically before turning to Alek. “So, which one is your favorite by Mr. Stark?”

 

_"The Lights We Never Saw_ ,” came the answer almost immediately, after Alek successfully recalled the original title. “But I have all of his novels. In German, obviously. When we moved here, I had to leave a lot of books behind but I could not part with my A. I. Ironman collection.”

 

“I can lend you them if you’d like to read them in English, because I have them all, too.”

 

“Geeks,” muttered Deryn to her elbows. She had crossed her arms on her desk, resting her head on them and examining the two guys. She decided to withdraw from the conversation for a while and let them bond over the famous novels of Mr. Stark, inventor, businessman and friendly neighbour.

 

“And which one is your favourite?” Alek threw the metaphorical ball back to Peter.

 

“ _A World Without Heroes_.”

 

“I like that one, too, but it’s really sad. Depressing even, I’d say. Four-hundred pages of depression poured on you.”

 

“Yeah, I know, but on the other hand, it’s simply terrific. When Stiv tells Leomark “ _You could have saved us. Why didn’t you do more?”_ Man! I get chills just thinking about that scene. And when one chapter later you realise that Leomark was imagining Stiv all along? His best friend was only imaginary? Dude, that shocked me more than the first season finale of _The Good Place_ did.”

 

“Hey!” Deryn barked. “Thanks for spoiling the book’s plot-twist.”

 

“Oh no, sorry! I’m so sorry!”

 

“It’s okay, I’ll recover,” Deryn dismissed all further apologies with the wave of her hand. “Maybe it’s for the best. I’m not very good with imaginary friends. I tried to make up a few, but they never stuck; I always forgot about them. Maybe I’m not creative enough.”

 

“I had a bunch of amazing imaginary friends!” For a moment Peter became a living exclamation mark again, but his enthusiasm quickly vanished. “But they vanished when… well, when I turned six or some time around then.” Deryn suspected there was more to that story but she couldn’t voice her concern as Peter went on in a fake-happy voice, “But back to real, 4D friends! How long have you known each other? Since the school term began or did you meet sooner?”

 

“We met at fencing camp. Well, Deryn and Doctor Barlow picked us up when I got stranded with the _Graf_ —the Wildcount—in the middle of a highway.”

 

“The wild who?”

 

“Volger. His godfather. The man with the moustache,” Deryn explained.

 

“Okay, got it.” Peter nodded. “But why is he wild?”

 

“He isn’t wild really; it means he’s a nobleman who owns a bit of forest. Like a count but with less land, so he’s a wildcount. Except that he’s not a count or wildcount for real, I call him that because, it’s— Like Mr. Stark named himself Ironman, I named my godfather _Graf_ , it’s pretty much the same. He isn’t noble and Mr. Stark isn’t made of iron.” Alek reached the end of his rambling explanation with an embarrassed shrug. “Anyway, fencing camp was fun,” he turned back to their original topic, “then I realised I was going to the same school as Deryn, who happened to live in the very same street we bought a house, in the same neighbourhood as Doctor Barlow! Until this, I thought America was big but I’m not so sure anymore,” he concluded, raising his shoulders and spreading his arms in the universal gesture for _the world is a funny place isn’t it_.

 

“Nice,” Peter smiled. “Ned used to live just a block away from me. When he invited me over to build legos with him, I could be there in four minutes by bike, or twelve, if I walked. Shit!” He clutched his head. “I forgot my bike! It’s still at school.”

 

“I could call the _Gr_ — the Wildcount to load it into the trunk and bring it over when he comes to pick me up,” Alek offered.

 

“Thanks, but May already promised she would pick me up tonight. I’ll just walk to school tomorrow, it’s not a long walk, and cycle home.”

 

“Okay, but if you change your mind, the offer is still on the table.”

 

“Thanks, really.”

 

“Or you could ask Ned to take it to your house on his way home tomorrow!” Alek was really into the case. “If he lives so close to you, it’s manageable—unless he goes to school by bike, too.”

 

“No, I’ll just ask May to take a detour to the school on our way home—or walk tomorrow. The thing is,” Peter sighed, “that Ned doesn’t live close by, not anymore. His dad got a really good job offer, so they moved away.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“To Oregon.”

 

Alek quickly recalled the map of the USA in his mind. “That’s— that’s very far from here.”

 

“It’s okay, I mean, we’re still best friends, we talk over the phone, and he sends me pictures of his new place, and we message each other all the time, and I keep him updated about my surrender to the terror of MJ… Oh, heck, no, she’s going to _kill_ us if we miss the first rehearsal, and since we’re suspended, we’re definitely going to miss it. She’ll probably decapitate us and use our heads as set decorations.”

 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Deryn huffed. “She’s not Lars von Trier. Actually,  I don’t even remember Lars von Trier ever decapitating anyone. Just text her.”

 

“Why me?” Peter gaped helplessly.

 

“You’re her friend. Also, you’re both on the decathlon team, and geeks don’t hurt other geeks.”

 

“Tell that to Flash,” the boy muttered but he was already typing a message on his phone.

 

“I think I did, which is why you’re enjoying my hospitality. You’re welcome,” Deryn sat back in her chair, satisfied. “You should be more worried that we’re skipping Spanish class, not about missing our first play rehearsal.”

 

“The quiz!” Alek gasped. “We missed a quiz! And who will tell us today’s words? And what about homework? I don’t know anyone else from Spanish class, apart from you two.”

 

“Alek, don’t panic! I’ll ask Lilit about today’s words and homework. I don’t really know her but she seemed nice, don’t you think? I’ll message her right now, easy as pie. No big deal.” Deryn fidgeted with her phone. “I think she’ll make a great Olivia. I wasn’t sure about Drama Club; it was Alek’s fault that I got that role in the first place, but I’m starting to think it’ll be cool. You’ll be there, so it’ll be fun, MJ seemed to know her shit, so it’ll go smoothly, and Lilit looked really nice, so I bet she’ll be a great partner on stage.”

 

“As your other partner on stage, I’ll turn to Lilit for advice if I want to live up to your expectations,” Alek teased her.

 

“Mock me as much as you want but she’s already sent me the Spanish words, haha!” she laughed defiantly, holding up her phone.

 

“Great! Then we can start memorising those words. Now.”

 

“Alek, you’re absolutely no fun.”

 

“Why can’t we do something useful for an hour? Then we can talk some more about our favourite Ironman novels while you can go back to being a meanie.”

 

“On a scale from stepping on lego and building a lego Death Star, memorizing Spanish words is somewhere around the middle, but I’m in.”

 

“Someone save me from the geeks,” Deryn groaned. “Alright, we can be studious until lunch, but not a second longer.”

 

***

 

Volger was baffled by how his morning could turn upside down so quickly. He should have taught a class about the French Revolution. What did he spend that precious teaching time with instead? He was called into the principal’s office because Alek got into a fight—and it wasn’t even a real fight!

 

“I worry that Deryn Sharp might be a bad influence on Alek,” he said before taking a bite of his sandwich.

 

“Don’t overthink it,” Nora stabbed her salad with her fork to punctuate her words. “I’ve known Deryn since she was eleven. We moved here about the same time, and she used the whole street as her playground. For a year she let me believe she had a twin brother.”

 

“How?”

 

“From time to time she dressed up as a boy and called herself Dylan,” she replied casually.

 

Volger almost choked on his lunch. “ _Was du nicht sagst._ ”

 

“Don’t look so shocked. She’d just lost her father. She was grieving. We all deal with our problems in different ways. She was eleven and that was hers.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“And don’t get me wrong, I know she shouldn’t have hit her schoolmate today. But she was punished, and trust me, she’ll learn her lesson. Two innocent students were suspended due to her actions and that’s something Deryn will remember next time she thinks of solving a problem with her fists.” Nora put her fork-less hand on the man’s wrist. Her touch warmed Volger’s heart, as she rarely initiated such intimate gestures in public. “The kids are all right. So are you.”

 

“Thank you,” smiled Volger. “You’re an amazing woman—but I think you know this.”

 

“Yeah, about me being amazing—I think I’m a bad influence on you.” The gentle look vanished from her eyes, giving place to mischief. “Snail? Was that really the best you could come up with?”

 

“Well, I was hesitating between snail and mousebear but snail sounded funnier.”

 

“I laughed my head off,” she said sarcastically.

 

“You know how it is. Elderly gentlemen don’t have girlfriends. That wouldn’t have sounded right.”

 

“You’re becoming funnier with every passing second,” remarked Nora with a deadpan expression. “Elderly? You’re barely past forty, recently entered middle-age. A very fine gentleman.”

 

“Why, Doctor Barlow, I didn’t know you were such a charmer.”

 

“As I am not. But I can easily spot a biologically well-constructed man,” she smirked and eyed him appreciatively, causing Volger’s shirt to suddenly become warm and a bit tight around his neck. “After all, I have a PhD in Biology.”

 

“I can’t wait for you to show me your PhD in dancing.”

 

“That’s a DLA, dearest.”

 

“Seriously?” Volger started out of their playful flirting. He could dance quite well, but if Nora was some secret performing artist, he would be seriously outclassed.

 

“No, just pulling your leg.”

 

“Who is being funny now?” he muttered, feeling relieved. What would he had done with a new Isadora Duncan?

 

***

 

After studying Spanish and eating the lunch Aunt Shona prepared, the three teenagers were allowed to have fun in the living room. Deryn suspected that her aunt had been softened by the good manners of the boys. Their polite thanks for the food and sincere apologies for being a nuisance mollified her and soon she started to cast kinder glances towards her niece, too. She even unbent enough to play a round of Pandemic with them.

 

Since humanity died out during the first round, Peter insisted playing again. After finally saving the world from the four horrible diseases, they settled down on the depressingly grey couch and watched _The Arrival_ in peaceful silence, enjoying a bowl of popcorn.

 

“I’ve seen it for like the fifth time, and this movie’s still mind-blowing!”

 

“Yeah, it’s awesome,” Deryn agreed with Peter. “No surprise the guy was mad at the woman when he learnt she could have prevented the—”

 

“No, he only believed she could have prevented it,” Peter debated, “but in truth, she couldn’t have. Louise understood that we were all living every single moment of our life at the same time! It all happens at once! Time isn’t a linear thing, it’s more like a sphere and we’re in the middle. We only sense it linearly because that’s how we cope with time. How could we live as finite beings if we could experience our birth and death simultaneously?” He threw himself wholeheartedly into the subject; Deryn couldn’t stop him. Not that she had wanted to. “That’s the point of the whole film. It’s not about questions of preventing events in view of the future. It’s about realising what a small place we take up in time, and living with this knowledge.”

 

“I disagree,” she groaned. “But I’m not sure if I follow you correctly.”

 

“She didn’t learn their language; she understood their concept of time and thus she received their gift. But what do you think, Alek?”

 

Alek was listening them with his mouth slightly open. Peter was talking very quickly, so he really needed to pay attention if he wanted to understand him. “I think I need to borrow your Ironman books after all. I need to learn science-fiction English.”

 

“Stop right there!” Deryn protested. “There is no such thing as science-fiction English.”

 

“Then I want to learn the English you both are speaking right now,” Alek groaned. “On a side note, I think I’m agreeing with Peter. I agree with Peter, I mean. Sorry, my English is slipping.”

 

“It’s been a long day,” Peter said sympathetically.

 

“Yeah, but it was great. Really. I have to normally live through a whole school day with tons of different classes and different classmates, and that’s more intense than you two.”

 

“I’m hurt. We’re a handful. Peter, tell him we’re a handful.”

 

“You’re alright but she’s a terror,” Alek whispered to Peter. Too bad Deryn was sitting between them. She lifted the popcorn bowl threateningly over Alek’s head.

 

“Don’t think I won’t hit you if necessary. You can’t get suspension from friendship.”

 

Peter realised they needed a quick distraction. He was frantically searching his brain for a good idea when suddenly his pocket vibrated, his phone coming to the rescue. “I got a message from MJ!” he exclaimed. “She cancelled the first rehearsal.”

 

“How sad,” Alek commented.

 

“I guess she needs her leading actors,” Deryn shrugged but finally put down the bowl. “I told you she wouldn’t bite your head off.”

 

“No, she’s saving that for tomorrow when she can include you two. She’s going to chew on our brains, just you wait.”

 

Deryn grimaced. “You make her look like a zombie.”

 

Before Peter could have replied, his phone started buzzing, signalling an incoming call from his aunt. He quickly excused himself and rushed out of the room.

 

“I never realised Peter was so cool,” Deryn said quietly, fiddling with the bowl and twirling it on the table.

 

“You’ll spill the popcorn on the carpet,” Alek warned her.

 

“I knew he was clever, but wow, he’s really a brainiac.”

 

“My aunt will be here in ten minutes,” Peter announced upon his return to the room and nearly tripped over his own feet.

 

“Blisters, I need to warn Aunt Shona!” Deryn jumped up like she was stung by a wasp. “She’ll need to put the kettle on in time.”

 

“What? No! I’ll just go away with May and be out of your hair.”

 

“No way. What about the famous Scottish hospitality?”

 

“I’ve been enjoying that all day.”

 

“As much as I like to listen to your funny little— what’s the word?— banter…” Alek stopped, shooting a questioning glance around, and Peter gave him a thumbs up. “So, funny as it is, the Wildcount will be here soon. It’d be fun to watch your aunt meet Peter’s aunt and my godfather—but maybe not today? Or your head isn’t spinning with all the family connections…?”

 

“Fine. We had enough family time today.” Deryn finally stopped fidgeting with the bowl and pushed it away, on the far side of the table. “But I’d like to state something. Next time we’re having a _Doctor Who_ marathon.”

 

“You mean next time you get us suspended?” teased Alek.

 

“No, next time you two want to be complete geeks,” she rolled her eyes. “Next time girls just wanna have fun. Next time you come over. Next time it’s raining unicorns. Take your pick.”

 

Despite the way she acted about punching Flash in the face, Deryn wasn’t very proud of herself. She felt bad for dragging the two guys into this. It was exhilarating to wipe the smile from Thompson’s face but she really needed to find another method for that if she wanted to enjoy the full taste of her victory. She might not have felt sorry for missing that Spanish quiz, but deep inside she had been excited for the first drama rehearsal.

 

After the boys left and she had received her obligatory scolding from her mother, Deryn retreated back to her room with the intention of reading _Twelfth Night_ . She lay on her stomach, stretched out comfortably on the bed, and flipped open the Shakespeare volume that once belonged to her father. Her eyes swept over the character list. Viola, that was her; Orsino, that was Alek’s role; and there was Olivia, played by Lilit. Deryn read the first line of the play: _“_ _If music be the food of love, play on…”_ She could relate to this one—everyone liked music, right? She did not know much about love but considering the numerous love songs that existed, she could easily imagine that music was the food of love indeed.

 

Deryn hoped Drama Club would be fun. Comedies were famous for being funny, right? And _Twelfth Night_ was a text-book comedy. It held the promise of laughable misunderstandings and pranks. Grief-stricken, crossdressing girls and falling in love with the wrong person? Obviously synonyms for fun and laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All credit for the art goes to the amazing @[ohstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstars)! (tumblr is oh--stars) Thank you!


	3. Shakespeare Unmasked

Much to Peter’s disappointment, Flash got only a day-long suspension, too. He appeared at school next day with a plaster on his nose. Peter tried to follow Han Solo’s advice: keep your distance, but don't look like you’re trying to keep your distance. It worked for a while. Flash restrained himself from making nasty remarks about his schoolmates—until lunch break. When both Deryn and Peter happened to be within hearing distance, he broke out into sing-song.

 

“Deryn Sharp is in love with Penis Parker! Too bad he’s a faggot!”

 

“Yeah, and he’s going out with me,” Alek deadpanned, appearing behind Flash. He calmly walked past the shocked boy, nodded to Deryn and Peter, and placed his tray on a table at the far end of the canteen.

Peter didn’t hesitate for a single moment; he made a beeline for Alek’s table with Deryn on his heels after she’d stopped for a second to give Flash the finger.

 

“Now he’ll spread the word that you’re gay,” Peter warned the other boy unhappily.

 

“So? I don’t care. He can’t even pronounce my name,” Alek shrugged, his attention never turned from his food.

 

Before Peter had the chance to continue arguing with him, MJ sat down next to Alek and said, “That was some fine diplomacy, Aleksandar.”

 

“See? She can pronounce my name,” he looked at Peter, before back turning to MJ. “Thanks, Michelle.”

 

“Try not to have any more fights with Flash this week. Any of you,” she warned them. “I don’t want to kick  you three out from Drama Club.”

 

“Flash provoked it!” was Deryn’s excuse.

 

“Yeah, and if he keeps bullying you, I’ll kick _him_ out of the decathlon team. I mean it: no fighting unless it happens on stage.”

 

“ _Alles klar_ ,” nodded Alek and Deryn rolled her eyes as a sign of reluctant acceptance. Peter was busy picking at his food and didn’t look at MJ.

 

“Good. I’ll stop bothering you until the read-through.” After this announcement, Alek expected the girl to change seats but MJ remained on the same spot. She finished her lunch without wasting any more words on them, then picked up her empty tray and left.

 

“Is she anything like this as a captain?” Deryn asked.

 

“She’s strong-minded and she has very strong principles,” replied Peter evasively.

 

Alek grinned. “I can’t wait for the rehearsals.”

 

***

 

The read-through was surprisingly uneventful in Peter’s opinion. He should have suspected that no acting would be involved, since the rehearsal’s name was quite telling. Nonetheless, he enjoyed it very much. Mostly MJ talked—she introduced Doctor Barlow as the choreographer, a twenty-something guy named Timothy James as in charge of the music, and Mrs. Winterhalter as the supervisor of Drama Club. Then she presented her artistic concept. In half an hour Peter learnt that theatre had its own science, and that a play needed to be precisely constructed but also very flexible at the same time.

 

“Believe it or not, belief is very important in this play,” MJ explained. “What we believe about ourselves and about the others around us. And, of course, what we want our audience to believe. Orsino believes that he’s in love with the beautiful Olivia, so he sends Cesario, his favorite servant, to win her heart for him. Olivia believes that her own brother is in heaven, which should comfort her, yet she’s positively drowning in her grief and sorrow. What does she do? Masks her face. And what does Viola do because she believes her brother is dead? She pretends to be a man. All three of them want the world to believe that they are identical to the personae they’ve constructed.”

 

She briefly glanced down at her notes, and suddenly Peter was struck by the realisation that MJ was wearing a mask, too. The mask of calmness. This was her first big moment as a director, and beneath her façade she must have felt the weight of it. Peter felt sympathetic towards her.

 

MJ continued, “Sebastian believes that his sister drowned, and his belief leads him to Illyria, where he plans to seek the friendship of Duke Orsino. Little does he know that the other characters’ secrets and misrepresentations of themselves will make everyone believe him to be someone else. He’s mistaken for Cesario, who is the public mask of Viola and not a person in and of himself.” Lilit raised her hand. “Yes, Lilit?”

 

“But is he really non-existent? What if Cesario is a real person with a very short life-span? After all, Viola falls in love with Orsino, but Olivia falls in love with Cesario, not Viola.”

 

“Good point,” nodded MJ, “and I won’t deny that I toyed with the idea of a grand finale with the boys presented as drag queens, the girls dressed up in male clothes, and Viola wearing her Cesario costume but with shiny stilettos. I thought it would perfectly visualize the problem you’ve just voiced.” Peter tried really hard to imagine the scene with some Renaissance music but all he could hear was Lady Gaga singing _Born This Way_. “But then I realized that actually Olivia falls in love with Viola. It’s Viola’s charm, wit and swagger that turns her head.” From the look on her face, Peter suspected that Deryn didn’t mind skipping the stiletto experience. “The trick is that she only notices all these because Viola pretends to be a guy.” MJ paused for a moment. She looked like she was about to say something very important, and everybody involuntarily straightened in their seats. “Despite the danger of the pretence, it’s a liberating experience for Viola. Consequently, it’s liberating for everyone else, too. She snaps Orsino out of his madness for Olivia. She helps Olivia to find a way out of her grief. It might not be intentional but she does it. How? She doesn’t alter her personality but, probably for the first time in her life, she’s noticed because of it. Why? Because she wears the mask of a man.” She sounded so zealous about it that Peter couldn’t help but feel enthusiastic, too. It was a nice change to see MJ excited.  “Making theatre should be liberating, don’t forget that. Have fun. Create art. Don’t be late from rehearsals.”

 

After the read-through, Stan and Lee collected the backstagers for a quick consultation.

 

“We don’t want to assign you to positions just yet,” Stan started. “We’d prefer if you learnt every aspect of staging a play—

 

“—and figured out what fits you most during the process,” Lee took over. “Then you can settle into that role for the duration of the play.”

 

“No stress, ladies and gentlemen. Each one of you has their own talent, you’ll find out soon enough. This is art—”

 

“This is magic!”

 

“—and most importantly, this is fun. If you make mistakes—”

 

“Trust me, we all do,” Lee whispered, winking conspiratorially.

 

“—make sure that you fix them, but don’t dwell on them. No worries.”

 

“At least, until tech week, because you’ll do plenty of worrying then.”

 

“Tech week is hell, but don’t think about that just yet.”

 

They were joking about tech week, right? Peter hoped so.

 

“Never ever forget that we are a team. Backstagers stick together.”

 

“We’re an irreplaceable part of Drama Club,” Lee concluded. “No show can go on without its theatre ninjas behind the scenes.”

 

Theatre ninjas. Peter liked the sound of that. Actually, this backstage crew business sounded really good, even though he wondered how all these “sticking together” and “part of the team” parts would work out for him. He wasn’t famous for his social skills.

 

The whole ordeal promised to be entertaining and interesting—and slightly different from Peter’s usual activities. He wished he could share it with Ned. His best friend would have immediately cited Darth Vader as the best example of wearing a mask to hide his true identity, Anakin Skywalker, behind a mentally and physically constructed figure. Peter could almost picture Ned waving a small LEGO Darth Vader in his hand to emphasize his reasoning.

 

Putting physical masks aside, Peter thought of metaphorical masks. He recounted all the times Aunt May put up a brave face for him, even when she must have missed Uncle Ben just as much as Peter did. He didn’t want to think about the night when he found Uncle Ben hurt and bleeding out in their home, and Ben tried to comfort his nephew while he was the one dying. So Peter searched for different memories. He recalled all those occasions when Tony covered his insecurities and demons with a pair of sunglasses and sharp jokes. Counted all the times Ned was made fun of and called names, and shrugged it all off with a laugh. And when he peered inside himself, Peter could remember every single time Flash bullied him and he pretended like it didn’t hurt.

 

He had to admit, MJ was right. Shakespeare, too. What people believed about themselves influenced how others viewed them.

 

***

 

And thus the rehearsals began.

 

“Orsino is drawn to beauty,” MJ explained to Alek who looked around a bit sheepishly on the stage. “Olivia is said to be the most beautiful girl in town, no wonder Orsino falls for her.”

 

Deryn was sitting behind the director, quietly following the rehearsal. She had already played her part today as MJ put Viola’s sea-coast scene at the beginning of the play, switching the first scene to appear second. She wasn’t needed anymore, but Deryn had stayed to watch the rest of the day’s rehearsal. After all, it promised to be more interesting than Spanish homework. Of course, you didn’t have to be a genius to call Olivia beautiful—Lilit obviously had the looks for the role. And she was graceful like a noblewoman would be. Deryn admired her smooth moves with an almost religious awe but without the edge of envy. Her own teenager body lacked the elegance her mother and aunts would have wanted to see but she was fine with it. She wouldn’t have minded a bit more “material” on the breast side, but otherwise she was content with her tall and bony shape.

 

“Then Cesario appears with his angelic face, and he becomes Orsino’s favorite in no time. See? The pull of beauty.”

 

Deryn had to suppress her giggle. Being friends with her growing body was very, very different from being beautiful; she was no beauty queen, she knew that. Guess she had to try and believe she was one.

 

“Olivia’s beauty differs from Viola’s,” MJ went on. “Olivia’s like a statue, in a way, a very aesthetic one, but she’s repressing herself because that fits her grief. Then she meets Cesario— But let’s not run ahead. Viola, on the other hand, is more lively. She thinks she lost her brother but hey, she’s just survived a shipwreck! She’s glad to be alive, and her life force is positively radiating off her.” Before Deryn could have started wondering if they really had to talk so much about the characters not in the scene, MJ turned her attention back to Orsino, the actual center of the scene.

 

“So, beauty. Orsino is not only drawn to it, he appreciates it. The beauty of a face, no matter if it belongs to a woman or a man, the beauty of music… every beautiful thing in the world! He’s the duke of beautiful Illyria. He’s suffering from a beautiful emotion: love. If he lived today, he’d be an aesthetics professor.” Deryn caught the exact moment when Alek’s mouth fell open. “Okay, maybe let’s not go that far,” MJ backed down, “but you get my meaning, right? Despite the soul-eating misery of unrequited love, Orsino is content with his life because guess what, life is beautiful.”

 

After the rehearsal, Lilit, who had no stage-time that day but had come along anyway, walked up to Deryn and gently poked her shoulder. She was busy zipping up her jacket and almost jumped out of her skin at the unexpected touch.

 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

“It’s okay, I was just lost in thought.”

 

Lilit smiled. “I just wanted to tell you that was very brave the other day.”

 

“What?”

 

“You, standing up for those two boys.”

 

“Oh, that—” Deryn shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant about the whole thing. “They’re pacifists so I have to do the ass-kicking. No big deal.”

 

“Well, I like it when someone fights for a good cause.”

 

Deryn blushed. “I like women just the same I like my tea: strong. I try to live up to my own expectations. Although my family would prefer if I was more _ladylike_ ,” she made bunny ears with her fingers, “I told them if they expect a Disney princess, they should prepare for Mulan or Rapunzel at least.”

 

“They are cool. So are you,” said Lilit with a twinkle in her eye. “I prefer being cool to being a _lady_ .” They were walking towards the exit of the auditorium, and Deryn needed to concentrate really hard not to trip on her own legs. “Remember the girl from the last winter olympics? The girl figure skating to _Thunderstruck_.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Her performance was graceful and dashing at the same time. The very definition of cool. Cooler than ice!” Lilit held the door open for Deryn. “You kind of remind me of her. See you tomorrow, Deryn.”

 

Lilit had long disappeared around the corner, but Deryn was still glued to the same spot by the door. Exiting the auditorium, Alek almost bumped into her.

 

“What are you grinning for?” he asked, eyeing Deryn with suspicions.

 

“Did you know that I am cool? Better than ladylike.”

 

Alek groaned in response. “Can we not have an English lecture right now, please?”

 

“Come on.” Deryn shook off the trance-like state. “I’m hungry. Race you to the bus stop!”

 

***

 

“ _Hello, May._ ” Tony’s phone call caught her as May was taking a coffee break. “ _I hope I’m not disturbing you._ ”

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“ _I just wanted to ask you if I could invite Peter for a Star Wars marathon next week. I have to spend a few days in New York but I’ll be home after Thursday._ ”

 

“Mhm.” May took a sip of her coffee, burning her tongue a little. It was black and bitter, like she preferred, but unfortunately tasted slightly of plastic.

 

“ _It could even be a double sleepover, both Thursday and Friday nights, maybe?_ ” Tony went on.

 

“No staying up late on school night,” she reminded him.

 

_“I know, I know. I’ll check that he’s done his homework and everything._ ”

 

“Will Pepper be at home too?”

 

“ _Not really, no. She won’t be back from New York until Saturday evening. But we’ll behave!_ ”

 

“Last time you two were left unsupervised, you broke a window.”

 

“Y _eah, but it was my window and my fault. May, I’m growing old, my reflexes are slowing down, and apparently I’m becoming worse at catching baseballs. You can’t blame me for aging. On a side note, in the very, very far future it’ll happen to you, too._ ”

 

“Alright, alright. You fix the day with Peter, just keep me updated.” She quickly glanced at her clock to make sure she wasn’t running late. “Actually, Tony, while I’ve got you on the phone, do you happen to have a secret nephew or niece hidden somewhere?”

 

“ _No, I’m afraid not, but I can check the cupboard if you want,_ ” Tony joked. “ _Why?_ ”

 

“Sorry, it was a weird question.”

 

“ _Seriously, May, why?_ ”

 

“It’s just that since Ned moved away, Peter’s lacking in company of kids his age,” May replied with a small sigh. “And yeah, obviously he’s missing Ned, and I know there are lot of kids at school, but he just can’t seem to connect with them.”

 

“ _What about all those extracurricular activities of his?_ ”

 

“He enjoys those, as far as I know. I mean, you know what he’s like, he never boasts about how well he’s done at decathlon practice, he just says it went okay. But he tells very nice stories about Drama Club!” A fond smile crossed her face but it quickly vanished as she remembered why she was telling Tony all this in the first place. “Anyway, after practice or rehearsal, he never hangs out with anyone. Ned used to come over all the time and Peter visited Ned plenty as well. But now? You’re the only person who invites him for a sleepover. And as much as we love to spend time with him, we both need to admit it’s not really healthy for a teenager to spend _all_ his time with adults.”

 

“ _Yeah, I get it._ ”

 

“I’m sorry for putting this on you.”

 

“ _No, no, no, it was no trouble. I’m honored, actually. I mean it,_ ” Tony said. “ _I’ll think about it. I’m sure we can come up with something to help Peter. To accelerate the process._ ”

 

“That sounds very scientific.”

 

“ _I’m sure that with time he’d find his footing again on the fields of friendship, but maybe we can speed things up a bit for him._ ”

 

May pondered this thought. She knew from experience that time had a healing power, the gift of easing the pain and troubles of the soul—but she also knew that time didn’t solve problems. People did, and nobody else could do it for them. Everyone had to face their own problems—but they could have help.

 

“He never says it but I think he’s lonely,” she said softly.

 

“ _Peter will figure it out. He will,_ ” Tony answered. “ _And if not, we’ll figure it out together._ ”

 

After the call, May finished her coffee, then washed the plastic cup before throwing it into the recycling bin. The routine helped to arrange her thoughts.

 

Help was a strange thing. After Ben died, even though she had Peter, May felt lonely. She had been torn between the need to help Peter and her own need for support as she grieved. She knew that Peter had struggled with the same internal conflict, and she had wondered if she could be enough for Peter. She wished she could turn to Ben just one last time. Ben had always been there to offer his comfort or advice, to soothe her worries with a smile—until he wasn’t anymore.

 

Then Tony and Pepper stepped in. They offered their help unobtrusively, not with words but with small gestures, letting May and Peter know that they were there if needed. Pepper invited them over for a casual dinner, and asked May if she could bring her anything from the supermarket while she was there. When May couldn’t swap her night shift for an earlier one, Tony volunteered to watch over Peter (which had once resulted in a week-long sleepover at Tony’s place).

 

There used to be days when May fumed with suppressed anger. She was angry at Ben for dying. She was angry at Peter for not arriving home later and avoiding being a witness to his Uncle’s death. She was angry at herself for not being there when Ben died. She was angry at Tony for trying to help them. She was angry at Pepper for her kindness. She was angry at the world.

 

But she tried to reason with herself. She knew that Tony didn’t want to replace Ben. She knew that her husband was never coming back to her. She knew that Peter needed her and that she needed Peter. So she reminded herself of what Ben told her when they adopted the six-year-old Peter and she worried if she was capable of raising a child: “It’ll be alright, May, just trust yourself.”

 

Trust was fundamental for human beings. Right now May was trusting Tony with the task of coming up with a hopefully-brilliant plan to help Peter, and herself with cooking at-least-edible spaghetti (with meatballs!) for dinner. Good luck to both of them.

 

***

 

Ernst was walking Tazza, the Saluki, with Nora. He enjoyed these evening walks, especially during the autumn. Contrary to Nora’s teasings, he was not a romantic—but he appreciated a neat neighbourhood. He liked that the small green patches in front of the houses were called “front gardens”; the name and the sight held the sense of pride and satisfaction. Most of the houses were white with a grey or brown roof, but among them, like big drops of paint splashed on a monochrome painting, stood a yellow one, a blue one, a red one… When he first discussed moving to the US as a real option with Alek , they both agreed that they wouldn’t want to live in a skyscraper in some movie-like big city. But that didn’t narrow it down much when there were 50 states to choose from. Knowing that Alek would miss the harsh greenness of Austria, Volger excluded Arizona, Colorado, Texas and Alaska right on the spot. When the time came to buy a house, he had thinned his options to three cities: Elmer, Oklahoma (too many tornadoes); Rockdwell, Maine (too similar to a Stephen King novel); and Gordonville, Alabama (so much rain). In the end, he decided that Rockdwell held the best offer, both in houses and job proposals, but sometimes he still felt it had been a blind guess. He never expected that he would end up in Maine. But Alek wanted to migrate to America and Volger went with the idea, which eventually led him to wandering through maple-lined streets with a beautiful woman and her disciplined dog. He had no reason to complain—and he hoped Alek got what he had wanted (or at least hoped for), too.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” asked Nora.

 

“I have no idea what should I give Alek for his birthday.” His answer wasn’t necessarily untrue; after all, he had been pondering what Alek _wanted_. “I thought I would give him money to buy himself something nice.”

 

“I think _you_ should buy him something nice.”

 

“I don’t really know what he wants.”

 

“Ernst, I’m sure you could cook up a scheme to find it out. Or you could just ask him.”

 

“I don’t see how would that be any different from giving him the money.”

 

“Then think of something creative,” she insisted.

 

“I’m not very good at giving presents.”

 

“You can always buy him something practical. A coat, for example.” After not getting an answer from Volger, she added, “He’d look good in dark blue. A bit enigmatic, with a hint of some royal air. ”

 

“Thank God for women,” muttered Volger, the atheist.

 

“I keep on saving your neck, Ernst.” The smile that accompanied this sentence was simultaneously fond and sarcastic. “You’re such a damsel in distress.”

 

When he got home later that evening, Volger found Alek in the kitchen. He was busy chewing on an apple and reading what looked like the script of a play.

 

Volger cleared his throat and Alek looked up. “Oh, hello. Sorry, I didn’t hear you coming in.”

 

Volger pulled out a chair and sat down, facing his godson over the table. “Your birthday is coming up,” he started. “Have you thought about how you want to celebrate it?”

 

“Actually, it’s on the very Friday I have my first basketball game with The Clankers.” For Volger, it was still unclear why would any high school team would choose this name. After all, it was a ball game, not some tractor-building workshop. “I thought you could come and cheer for the team—if you’re amenable. Then maybe we could go for pizza?” Alek suggested, his voice hopeful and slightly high-pitched. “You, me, Deryn and Doctor Barlow.”

 

Both of them heard the unsaid “it would be less awkward if it wasn’t just the two of us”. Volger had somewhat expected this outcome; it was going to be Alek’s first birthday since his parents’ death. It was good to hear that he felt all right with any kind of celebration at all.

 

“My best friend and your best friend,” Alek added.

 

But that sounded so wrong because Franz was Volger’s best friend. He might have had tender feelings for Nora, however, that was different. How could she ever replace Franz? She and Volger could never have the same connection. A different one, yes, but not the deep friendship he had shared with Franz.

 

Of course, he couldn’t tell this Alek. He didn’t want to make him feel bad when he didn’t say anything wrong—at least, not intentionally.

 

“So Deryn is your best friend now,” Volger said slowly.

 

“I think so, but I haven’t checked it with her.”

 

“Then ask her. About the game and the pizza, I mean. I’ll ask Doctor Barlow,” he proposed before an alternative came to mind. “Unless you want to invite her personally? It’s your birthday, after all.”

 

“Maybe I should—but that could come out awkward. I think I’ll just write her an invitation card? Do they still sell those?”

 

“No idea,” Volger shook his head. “Would you like a birthday cake?”

 

“Pizza is the best cake,” Alek grinned. “I’m a _pizzatarian_ now. By the way, can we order one for dinner, please?”

 

“Won’t that spoil all the fun for your birthday?”

 

“Come on, that would mean me going for a fortnight more without pizza. Look at the facts, Wildcount.” Volger loved how Alek always tried to argue logically. “I had rehearsal all afternoon, and on the way home Deryn kept on talking about food, so I’m really hungry. The best solution is to order a pizza—or try to bake one.”

 

Volger shook his head. “We can’t risk us blowing up the kitchen.”

 

He wondered if he should suggest eating the pizza on the couch while watching a movie, but it went against the grain. The table would have to do.

 

“Okay, what do you want on your pizza?”

 

“Salami, pepperoni, and cheese? But tell them to make it aesthetically pleasing because Orsino is all about beauty.”

 

“What? No, young man, I’m not ready for your Orsino. Keep it a surprise. Also, you might be surprised, too, as salami may taste different here.”

 

“I can’t believe we’ve been living in this country for months now and haven’t had a single slice of pizza!” Alek clutched the sides of his face in shock. “Maybe you’re right, Wildcount, we ought to keep the big pizza moment for my birthday and stick to bread and cheese tonight.”

 

“As you wish, Aleksandar.”


	4. Birthday Boy

“ _Give me some music_ , ” Alek read from his script. “ _Come hither, boy,_ ” Leaving the group of courtiers, Deryn walked up to him. “ _If ever thou shalt love, in the sweet pangs of it remember me. For such as I am all true lovers are,_ unste— _unstaid and skittish in all motions else, save in the_ constr— conste— _constant image of the creature that is beloved._ ” Alek was grateful that his tongue had only stumbled on the difficult Shakespeare text three times. And only thirty-seven times during  the rehearsal so far. “ _How dost thou like this tune?_ ”

 

“ _It gives a very echo to the seat, where Love is throned."_

 

" _T_ _hou dost speak masterly,_ ” and he offered his hand to Deryn.

 

“Okay, that’s it!” MJ shouted. “Put down your scripts. Guys, I need everybody on the stage. Quick, quick! We’re going to practice the waltz.”

 

Michelle’s concept for the scene was that Orsino had been trying to teach Cesario to dance the Viennese waltz: while they were talking about love, they were practicing the dance, too. She had chosen _Have You Ever Really Loved A Woman?_ by Bryan Adams, an older song that was cheesily perfect for the occasion, and Doctor Barlow created a choreography that everyone in Drama Club was required to learn. The almighty director knew no mercy.

 

“I won’t let my waltzing scene go down the drain because someone breaks their leg or something,” she stated. “Not that I expect anything like that, but it’s better to be prepared.”

 

So even Michelle was practicing the steps with Peter as her partner. Both of them were surprisingly good at waltzing but they looked like they weren’t sure who should lead and who should follow. In Alek’s opinion, they perfectly fitted into her interpretation of the scene.

 

“The idea is,” she explained when they first rehearsed the scene, “that Orsino is teaching Cesario to dance; so Cesario should lead—and he does for a while. But! Orsino gets carried away, of course, with his thoughts about love and women, and he takes over the lead without even noticing. Cesario-Viola, who is in love with him, obviously just goes with it.”

 

The plan was to teach Alek and Deryn (and, apparently, everyone else) to waltz so smoothly that they could say their lines and act without missing a step. Alek was fine with dancing, really; he would choose Viennese waltz over hip-hop moves any day. But Deryn didn’t seem to enjoy it at all, and that made Alek feel awkward, too. They kept bumping into each other, and once Deryn even managed to headbutt him.

 

“Focus!” snapped Alek. “Or we will be here until the edge of time.”

 

“My legs are too long,” Deryn grumbled back. “And I don’t think time has an edge.”

 

“You’re hopeless.”

 

“Just like your English.”

 

“Prat.”

 

“Asshole.”

 

“Alek, Deryn, I can see that you’re getting better at waltzing and talking at the same time,” Doctor Barlow called out to them, “but could you stick to Shakespearean insults?”

 

Alek nodded and quickly steered the grimacing Deryn out of Doctor Barlow’s earshot.

 

”Sorry for insulting you,” he apologised.

 

“It’s okay, you bumrag,” smirked Deryn. “I hope I’m not banned from your birthday, oh, master of English language.”

 

In the end Alek had simply asked Deryn and Doctor Barlow during their next car-ride if they would honour his birthday pizza dinner with their presence; no presents required.

 

“No, but I will step on your feet. I will!”

 

“Why do we have to be waltzing? Why can’t we kick-box instead?”

 

“Don’t give ideas to the almighty director.”

 

Thirty torturous minutes later the whole crew was released from rehearsal. A collective, relieved sigh left everyone’s chest, and the club members headed for the exit, chatting on their way out.

 

Alek nudged Deryn between the ribs. “ _¿Tienes hambre?”_

 

“What’s with the Spanish?”

 

“ _Tú me criticaste por mi inglés._ ”

 

“By the way, can I copy your Spanish homework?”

 

“No.”

 

“Is that a Spanish no or an English no?”

 

“It’s an everything no. You have enough time to do your homework on your own.”

 

“Aye, plenty of, I just don’t care.” Deryn stuck out her tongue at her friend. “And I have no problem with your English. It’s extremely good around midday, you only slip when you’re tired. Or when you can’t concentrate because I’m annoying you.”

 

“So true.”

 

“I kind of like how you say _yah_ instead of _yeah_.”

 

“Forget about my accent,” Alek offered a small smile. Deryn might be a bit harsh sometimes but he never took that personally. He was tired, that’s all, and maybe it made him slightly more sensitive. “Let’s talk instead about that _Zombies vs. Plants_ app you wanted to show me.”

 

The problem was that she had wanted to demonstrate the game during calculus and they had almost gotten caught by the teacher.

 

“Sure. It’s an easy-peasy game.” She reached into her coat pocket to fish her phone out.

 

“Hey, Deryn!” Lilit caught up with them. “You dropped your glove.”

 

“Thanks! I must have pulled it out with my phone but didn’t notice.”

 

“Why do you keep your phone in your coat?” Alek asked, frowning.

 

“Because it has a zip, _Dummkopf_. Most of the pockets on women’s clothes are useless.”

 

“They’re total shit,” Lilit agreed. “When I was little, I never stopped nagging my Nene to sew extra, actually useful pockets on my clothes. You’re running around the playground and a single hanky can’t fit properly into your pocket.”

 

“Yeah, and you’re scolded when you rub your nose with your sleeve because you lost your paper tissue—again.”

 

“Pocket on an evening dress? What for, put everything in your tiny reticule,” Lilit ranted while Deryn listened to her with eyes aflame. Alek couldn’t suppress the tiny voice in his head that whispered _Lilit is quite an_ unheimlich _girl_. “Pocket on a wedding dress? No way would you need them, surely. Why can’t a dress be stylish and have pockets at the same time?”

 

“Got to go, I forgot my...” Alek’s voice trailed off, never finishing his sentence. “Bye!”

 

Deryn waved him good-bye, her attention fixed on Lilit as they walked down the stairs, while Alek turned back—and immediately collided with Peter.

 

“Sorry!” they said in unison, then just stood there, shifting their weight from one leg to the other. Alek mused how oddly empty his head felt.

 

Peter was the first to snap out of their stupor and break the silence. “Well, go on,” he said as he held the door open for Alek.

 

“What?”

 

“I thought you had to go back for your— what, exactly? Sorry, forget it, not my business.”

 

“Um, yeah, that was just an excuse to leave Deryn and Lilit alone,” Alek picked at the hem of his coat-sleeve. “They are having a debate about fashion; I don’t have the English vocabulary for that.”

 

“Trust me, I lack the necessary vocab as well,” Peter snorted. “I wonder if that’s one of the many reasons why Aunt May doesn’t let me do the laundry. I think it’s mostly because the one time I tried to help, I turned everything blue and red. I mean, how on Earth did I do that? It’s one thing to turn everything pink with a single red T-shirt but red _and_ blue?! It looked like I had washed the American flag.”

 

“Is that legal? To wash a flag, I mean. Maybe the Wildcount would let me avoid washing duty if I tried that.”

 

“It’s no use to get yourself banned from one chore; a different task would find you eventually.”

 

Finally, they let got of the door and started walking towards the bus stop. As they reached it, Alek saw the bus disappearing around the corner. He groaned internally—this meant ten minutes of waiting for the next one. Ten minutes of hopping from one leg to the other. Ten minutes of tapping his fingers on his phone. Ten minutes of glancing around with tired eyes, hoping that just this once the next bus would arrive a minute sooner.

 

“Where are you going?” he asked Peter. Maybe they could wait together. It would be less torturous, even if Alek felt that it was taking twice as much effort as usual to force every English word out.

 

“My favorite comic shop. Wanna join?” came the reply, accompanied by an inviting smile.

 

“I don’t know much about comics,” Alek admitted.

 

Peter’s smile didn’t falter. On the contrary, it widened. “Then we need to change that.”

 

***

 

Two young boys were playing on the merry-go-round, spinning it and yelling loudly, but otherwise the playgrounds was surprisingly deserted. Lilit had suggested that she and Deryn enjoy the gentle October weather with a walk through the park before parting at the bus stop, and now she winked at Deryn. They raced to the swings..

 

“I love swings!” Deryn shouted up at the sky as she was pumped her legs to go higher and higher. “It almost feels like flying.”

 

“We have swings instead of wings.”

 

After a few minutes of urging their swings to reach the highest point possible, they finally slowed down.

 

“Pity that swinging is not considered a sport,” Deryn pouted.

 

“Think that one over, Pinky Cheeks,” Lilit laughed seeing Deryn blush.

 

“You know what I meant,” Deryn protested, her cheeks still tinged like cherry trees in bloom.

 

“Sorry, not sorry. It was too good to pass up.”

 

Deryn had to admit that Lilit’s laughter was captivating, even when she was laughing at her. She marvelled at how could someone at the age of sixteen look so beautiful. On her worst days Deryn felt like her body was a shapeless lump: her skin merely a dry sack pressing some meat and bones together. Except on her face, of course, because there her skin tended to turn greasy and surprise her with pimples at the worst times. Lilit, on the other hand, had a single spot beneath her aquiline nose, more or less successfully masked with concealer, and otherwise her light brown skin looked practically perfect. Deryn wondered if Lilit ever felt uncomfortable in her growing body. If she was ever teased for her thick eyebrows, the shade of her skin, or the shape of her nose. At least she knew that Lilit was quite capable of defending herself.

 

“So, any hobbies? Apart from cross-dressing and sexual partner swapping.”

 

Deryn snapped back to reality. She secretly prayed that she hadn’t stared at Lilit like a dumb fish.

 

“Nothing unusual,” she said, wishing she could show off with at least one impressive hobby. “Reading, fencing, building airplane models… Just stuff, you know.”

 

“Have you ever heard about Julie d’Aubigny? Or should I say, La Maupin?”

 

“Is she anything like the figure skating girl?”

 

“Way cooler,” smirked Lilit. “Long story short, she was a bisexual opera singer and swordswoman who bested men in life-or-death duels, dressed up in male clothes, and once snuck into a convent to shag a nun. In seventeenth century France.”

 

“Wow,” breathed Deryn. The life of La Maupin sounded downright mouth-watering.

 

“See? Fencing is anything but usual; fencing is sexy. Your problem is that you’re too shy.”

 

Deryn snorted. “Yeah, whatever.” She had been accused of many things but she had never been called shy. No way. Deryn Sharp wasn’t a fainting princess, shyness simply didn’t sit with her. “I should get going.” The sun was already setting. Deryn jumped off the swing. “Aunt Shona is going to bite my head off.”

 

***

 

“Man, I have never seen so many comic books in place before,” Alek gaped as he stepped into Raj’s shop, hot on Peter’s heels.

 

“That’s because you’ve never been to a proper American comic shop before.”

 

“I’ve never been to any comic shop before. I didn’t even know this part of the town existed! I mean, I knew, I’ve just never been here before. In this part of the— _Verdammt!_ What am I even trying to say? I don’t know much about the town, that’s it.” He looked around. “What are we looking for?”

 

“Me? _Batman: The Long Halloween_. The time has come for me to own a copy of that. You? Just enjoy the feast.”

 

“ _The Long Halloween?_ That sounds really— really—” Alek stopped mid-sentence as he couldn’t find the right word.

 

“Scary?” Peter tried to help.

 

“What? No.”

 

“Boring?”

 

“No,” now he was groaning in frustration.

 

“Can you mime it?”

 

“How do you say it when Halloween is here in a week and you’re planning to buy something titled _The Long Halloween_?”

 

“Well-timed?”

 

“Deryn was right: my English is shit.”

 

“Did she really say that?”

 

“She was just joking… I think.” Alek massaged his temples. “I feel like my brain was replaced with sawflour.”

 

“It’s okay, dude,” Peter reached out like he wanted to clap him on the shoulder but changed his mind half-way through the motion and gestured around the shop instead. “Just go and leaf through some comics—it usually helps me to rearrange my thoughts.”

 

So Alek tried to follow the Parker wisdom. The black and white tiles of the floor and the bookshelves full of comics with colourful covers, everything lit by neon lights, gave a slightly psychedelic impression. And the titles! All those strange new titles, holding the promise of strange new tales, made Alek’s head spin. Raj, the owner, sat behind the counter, seemingly lost in a newspaper, but Alek suspected that he was taking a secret nap. He could easily afford a break as, apart from the two boys, the shop was surprisingly empty. Maybe there were bigger comics shops in the town. Or maybe other teenagers were enjoying a sunny Wednesday afternoon outside.

 

“Look, they have _Lumberjanes_! That’s Deryn’s favourite.” Peter was right. In less than a minute Alek went from zero energy to one-hundred percent enthusiasm. He kept spinning around and pointing at everything that captured his attention: “And there is _Paper Girls_ ; she mentioned that, too.”

 

Peter’s head popped out from behind a shelf. “I don’t know that one but _Lumberjanes_ is really good, you should read it.”

 

“She said _Paper Girls_ had time-travel in it.”

 

“Shit, no,” Peter groaned desperately, “I’ll spend all my money on comic books. You just can’t resist a good— Oh, no, there’s _Nimona_ ,” he stopped talking mid-sentence as he spotted another volume on the shelf. “Peter Parker, don’t look, don’t you dare to look,” he warned himself, his eyes glued to _Nimona_.

 

Alek chuckled. “Come on, don’t leave Batman hanging.”

 

“I love comics,” Peter sighed, as he searched for his wallet. “They are brilliant. I used to borrow most of them from Ned. When they moved to Oregon, he gave me _The Killing Joke_. It was my favorite one; Ned said I’d read it more times than he had.” He was in his backpack up to his shoulder, rummaging in it. “Where the hell is my wallet?”

 

“Pocket? Coat? Jeans?”

 

“I always put it in this inside pocket but there is a hole on it now so my wallet tends to slip out and disappear. I really should sew it up. I’m surprisingly talented at— Gotcha!” he held up the object, triumphantly. “Now nothing can stand between me and _The Long Halloween_.”

 

“Do you celebrate Halloween?” enquired Alek. They stood in front of the counter, waiting for the sleepily blinking Raj to check their items.

 

“Not planning to. I’m done with trick-or-treating and I’m not expecting any invitations to costume parties,” Peter shrugged. “So, what did you pick?” he asked, trying to glance at the cover of the comic book Alek held in his hand.

 

“ _The Killing Joke_. You’re the expert, I trust you,” Alek smiled. “So it better be good.”

 

“Wow, dude, that’s a— that’s a lot of pressure on me. What if you don’t like it? What if you hate Batman? Please don’t hate Batman. Of course, it’s up to you. It’s not my business, I don’t want to tell you who you should like or not. But please don’t hate him.”

 

Alek looked a little abashed. “Sorry, I didn’t want to stress you out. I just— I really don’t have any ideas about comics. I’ve never owned one before but they sound fun. Also, a good opportunity to practice English. Lots of pictures, dynamic dialogue, that’s my— My game? My tea?”

 

“I understand. And your English is fine.”

 

But Alek only shook his head. “It’s been bugging me all afternoon. I know Deryn didn’t mean to hurt me with her comments. She was only joking, but she was right.” Since he had met her a few months ago, he had learnt that Deryn’s hastily-thought out remarks were not made with malicious intentions. Also, that she used the strangest swear-words. Sometimes Alek wished he would have a special Deryn-dictionary. “So I decided I would practice more.”

 

“Dude, you are literally living in the US! You practice English everyday just by leaving the house.”

 

Alek couldn’t help but notice the last glance of admiration Peter cast at his comic book before carefully putting it into his backpack. He obviously enjoyed every moment of their visit to the shop. Alek felt glad to be part of it; even if the experience couldn’t chase away his insecurities, it cheered him up. He had just bought his first comic book ever! Now he could stay up all night and make friends with Batman. Tomorrow he would be tired like a dog, sure, but better to be sleepy because you stayed up reading a good story, rather than because of some awful nightmare. He had had enough of those.

 

Suddenly, a great idea came to his mind. He just needed to present it to Peter somehow.

 

“Thank you for showing me this place.”

 

“I’m glad you liked it.”

 

Alek liked how genuinely Peter could smile. Clearly, there was no envy in his heart; he didn’t try to keep this place to himself, he was ready to share. Alek appreciated it a lot. And he planned to take advantage of Peter’s generosity for his idea.

 

“How is the sawdust in your head?”

 

“Much better, thanks. And, umm, I’d like to ask a favour, actually. You told me I could borrow your Ironman novels in English. Maybe— I’d like to ask you to—” He felt a little less certain now. Books were precious things, and favourite books were at least twice as precious. “So, I wish to borrow one of your Ironman novels, please. I’d keep it as a treasure. I would, I promise. I think that would be a great help with my English.” There. Saying it loud, borrowing a book didn’t sound such a great idea at all.

 

“If it makes you feel less stressed about it, I can lend you one right now. Okay? Only if you’re up to walking a few more blocks with me because I keep my books at home, obviously.”

 

“Logical. _Sicher_. Let’s go.”

 

***

 

Deryn’s nose and cheeks turned red from the chilly evening air, in graphic contrast to her fair skin. She wore an apple-green coat, her grey gloves and a slightly worn-out, grey flannel scarf, but she didn’t wear a cap, which left her head exposed to the rapidly cooling weather—and since her blonde hair was cut short in a pixie style, the pink tips of her ears were visible, too. As much as Lilit enjoyed the sight, she didn’t want Deryn catch her death of cold, so she climbed off her swing.

 

“Let’s go, Pinky.”

 

“Don’t call me that. Pink is not really my favourite colour.”

 

“Should I call you grumpy? Besides, I think _Pinky_ really suits you,” Lilit smirked, appreciating the hot blush creeping up on Deryn’s neck.  She wished she could provoke Deryn into sticking her tongue out.

 

“I yield.” Frowning and sullen, Deryn reached into the right pocket of her coat; her eyes growing wide when she couldn’t find what she was looking for. “Blisters, where are my keys?”

 

“Maybe they fell out while you were on the swing.”

 

At this suggestion, Deryn turned towards the swings, and something jingled in her left pocket. Lilit’s hand shot out immediately, fingers curling around Deryn’s right wrist, whose hand was still deep in her right pocket, and gently pulled her closer. Then with her free hand, she reached into the left pocket and lifted out the keys in question.

 

“Looking for these?”

 

“Thanks. I feel so stupid now.” As they were talking, Lilit could see Deryn’s warm breath in the cold air. They were standing very close and somehow she had forgotten to let go of her wrist.

 

“Don’t be. Apart from the fact that you and only you put them there, and that you should have felt their weight, you stood no chance.” And finally, finally, Deryn stuck out her tongue. Small victory of the day! “Come on, Pinky,” Lilit nodded towards the north-west gate, releasing Deryn’s hand. “Let’s move before you turn into an icicle.”

 

“I’m not cold.”

 

“No, because you’re hot, but that was never a question.”

 

As much as she enjoyed flirting with Deryn, Lilit wished the flirting wasn’t so one-sided. It wasn’t that she wanted to ride into the sunset hand-in-hand with this red-nosed, punch-landing Scot—but actually, if Deryn had said she was in for the ride, Lilit wouldn’t have hesitated for a single second.

 

***

 

“I love that when Leomark is forced to make a weapon, he creates a shield instead.”

 

The original plan was: 1. rush into the Parker residence, 2. find the book, 3. say good-bye. Easy as pie, they thought. An hour later the two boys were still sitting on Peter’s bed, eagerly talking about their favourite A. I. Ironman novels. They shared a mutual passion for science-fiction stories, time-travel, high-tech machines, and disturbing post-apocalyptic dystopias.

 

“Not a fan of guns, not at all,” Peter went on babbling. “You should hear Mr. Stark rant about gun-control laws and responsibility, especially when it comes to the topic of school shootings. He _hates_ weapons. Just like the Doctor!”

 

“Doctor who?”

 

“Exactly,” he grinned but seeing Alek’s confused expression, his eyes grew the size of saucers. “Don’t tell me you don’t watch _Doctor Who_.”

 

“No?”

 

“We need to set this right.” Peter immediately switched on his laptop, then tossed all the pillows and some sweaters on top into the corner of the bed in order to make it more comfortable to lean back.

 

“Nice jumper,” commented Alek, referring to a red one that accidentally landed on his head.

 

“Thanks. It was a Christmas gift from May.” Peter finished rummaging his room and gestured Alek to settle on the pillows comfortably, before plopping down next to him. “Let me introduce you to your very first _Doctor Who_ experience. Ready?”

 

“As ever I am. Will be. Yeah, whatever, let’s roll.”

 

Three episodes later Alek guiltily checked the time on his phone.

 

“I don’t think we should have a marathon on a school night,” he said sadly.

 

“Yeah, right,” Peter agreed, looking equally sorry. “May wouldn’t approve of it. Neither would Mr. Stark. I don’t know about Mr. Volger but I guess—”

 

“He’s usually fine with these things. I mean, as long as I text him what time I’ll be done, and then I arrive home on time, and I don’t get lost on the streets of Rockdwell or eaten by dogs or dragons… You know, as long as I am responsible, he’s fine.”

 

Peter was eagerly nodding. “I know, dude. Mr. Stark is always going on and on about responsibility. Like I was a kid, duh?”

 

“Peter, you’re smart as whatever the expression for this is, but biologically, you’re a kid,” Alek pointed out. Peter scrunched up his face, ignoring the compliment on his intelligence and focusing on the latter half of the sentence.

 

“Ned used to say that, too. But you two just don’t get it! I’m not an eight-year-old now. I’m more mature. Responsible! But I feel he still sees me as the same as age when he met me. Mr. Stark, I mean, not Ned, because Ned is obviously not around anymore.” Peter stopped in his rant, shaking his head in resignation. He hadn’t got any idea how _this_ happened. He used to jabber to Ned and only to Ned on the phone about all the things that frustrated him. But Ned was his oldest friend—compared to him, Alek was practically a stranger; yet here Peter was, sitting with him (not Ned!) and venting his frustrations. What’s more, he was talking about Ned and Mr. Stark, two of the most important people in his life. “Sorry to let loose like this. I didn’t— I just— Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay, promise, totally okay. I mean, you talk really fast but I still got what you meant and that’s the thing, right?” Alek took a deep breath as if searching for the right words. “Right. I don’t really know what to say.” So much for the right words, but Peter appreciated the effort anyway. “I wish I could say something clever, share a similar experience from my life, but the _Graf_ — the Wildcount isn’t like Mr. Stark. Trust me, the Volger experience is very different. But hey, you have a mentor! Even if he sometimes drives you up— drives you insane. Okay, maybe that’s a bit too harsh. I can’t imagine A. I. Ironman driving anyone _Nuss_.”

 

“Nuts, dude, and he’s not my mentor, not for real, I mean.”

 

“Stop right there. We’ll call him your mentor if you don’t want to blow up my vocabulary.” Peter cracked a smile and this encouraged Alek to add: “You see him as your mentor and that’s what counts.”

 

“I guess.”

 

Peter contemplated the thought and realised that he really needed to work on his insecurities. He couldn’t decide if Mr. Stark was actually treating him as an eight-year-old kid or if it was only his anxieties that made him feel like that. Tricky question. Maybe Alek had suggested the best solution for the problem: if Peter saw Mr. Stark as a mentor figure (and he sure did), he should follow his example. Be like him. Confident. Creative. Bold.

 

Peter ruefully thought that surely Mr. Stark would have preferred him to become an actor in Drama Club, not a backstager. It would have been a great opportunity to show his mettle—too bad Peter lacked the ambition for acting. Personally, he was drawn to the little things that made a performance work, like sound, lights, props, but he guessed that Mr. Stark, a creator, valued creative works more. He had not dared to ask. Maybe one day, when the world was ready for the rebellion of mutely triumphant stooges, an army of assistants and deputies, the seconds-in-command, the runners-up, the right-hand people… So, maybe one day he would show everyone that unpopular, uncreative, and underestimated people could do great, unexpected things, too. When Peter had figured out what on Earth he was doing in Drama Club—and in life in general.

 

***

 

Alek was the type of guy who finished his calculus homework on a Friday afternoon, right before his first ever basketball game, just to kill time. And maybe to kill his worries, too.

 

Just as he wrote down the final digit, there was a knock at the door.

 

“ _Komm herein!_ ” he called, checking his calculations one last time. When he turned around, he didn’t see Volger as he had expected. “Oh, hi, Deryn.”

 

“Hiya.” Deryn stepped into the room and closed the door, her left hand suspiciously kept behind her back. “I thought, for a change, I could come over instead of you picking me up. Also, brilliant opportunity to give you your birthday present.”

 

“A present!” Alek’s face lit up, immediately forgetting about maths.

 

“Happy birthday, Dummkopf,” she said as this she handed him the small package she’d been hiding behind her back.

 

Alek tried to carefully peel off the wrapping paper, and a red scarf was revealed. “ _Wunderschön!_ Thank you!” He hastily tied it around his neck—so eagerly that Deryn looked downright worried. As if he’d be silly enough to strangle himself. “You and the Wildcount had similar thoughts. He gave me a coat.”

 

“Colour?”

 

“Blue.”

 

“What shade of blue?”

 

“Just… blue?” Seeing the dejected look on Deryn’s face, Alek threw up his hands in surrender. “I know like seven colours, both in English and German. You can check it out for yourself, I’ll wear the coat tonight.”

 

“Nevermind,” she sighed while getting comfortable on Alek’s bed. “Red and blue make a nice match.”

 

Alek narrowed his eyes as suspicion took root in his mind. “Wait a minute. Did Doctor Barlow tip you two off?”

 

“Boom, our secret is out.” Deryn stretched out on his bed and Alek heaved a sigh of relief for the bedspread covering it. He hated when street clothes touched his bedclothes; only pyjamas could go near it. No sitting on his sheets in jeans, that was his rule. “But think of it as an act of caring. I suck at giving presents and I bet Volger sucks too, so we did the only logical thing: we asked someone who does not hopelessly suck at giving presents to help us.”

 

“Very logical,” Alek smiled. Then suddenly his face darkened as he remembered all the previous presents he had ever gotten from his godfather. He couldn’t help but wonder: did Volger ask Alek’s parents to help him with ideas? Did his father or mother advise him?

 

He shook his head, as if to clear it from disturbing thoughts. Everything that happened in Austria, every birthday and Christmas, every family dinner and gift-giving, everything was left behind. They could have returned to Austria, if they wanted to, but they could have never returned _home_. No more advice would come from Alek’s parents—so Volger turned to Doctor Barlow for help. To whom should Alek turn? To Volger, he supposed.

 

“Hey, Alek, what’s wrong?” Deryn sat up and crouched closer to her friend.

 

“It’s stupid. And complicated.”

 

“Well, I’m a sucker for complicated stories. You can tell me.”

 

Alek didn’t know where to start or what was really eating away at him—apart from the fact that it was his first birthday without his parents. So he said that came to his mind, and that he could put into words: “Before we moved here, I studied at a boarding school.”

 

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that,” Deryn said softly. “Go on.”

 

“My school wasn’t anything like _Der Club der toten Dichter_ but it was all right. A bit lonely, though. I didn’t have many friends and I didn’t get to see my parents for most of the year. But I knew that my parents were there somewhere back home, that they— they existed. It was the same for the Wildcount. You might not meet someone every single day but you can be still sure of their existence. That they’re _there_.” Alek took a deep breath. He could only hope that Deryn was following his train of thoughts. “But then one day they just weren’t there anymore. My parents… ceased to exist.” Another deep breath. He would not cry. He would not call them dead and he would not cry. “Sorry, I kind of hate to talk about this.”

 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Deryn patted his shoulder in a comforting way but Alek shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line.

 

“I feel like I must. If I don’t talk about it today— Anyway, it’s stupid. Just… stupid. It’s just that I’m afraid that one day I’ll need Volger but he won’t be there.” There, he’d said it. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel any better. “I want to stop feeling stupid,” Alek groaned, burying his face in his hands, “but now I feel even stupider for telling you this.”

 

Deryn gently nudged him between his ribs. “I don’t know how to make you feel better or feel less stupid but I have some ideas. Like, maybe we could dance it out with the help of Tegan and Sara!” She got what she wanted: Alek lifted his head and looked at her, eyes watery but still not crying.

 

“Excuse me, who?”

 

“ _Save your first and last dance for me…_ ” Deryn sang while she slipped off the bed and started rummaging through her bag, looking for her phone. “Gotcha! Alek, let me introduce you to Tegan and Sara, hot bad-ass twins who make awesome music.”

 

“I’ve never heard of them.”

 

“Basic info: they’re awesome. Listen!” She pushed the play button and _Stop Desire_ started to play. “You know what’s even more awesome about them? Once they covered _Just Like A Pill_ by P!nk. Now come on, shake your— shake yourself.” She was twitching in a sort of St. Vitus fashion, but Alek found it sweet, like being entertained by the sight of a bear riding a bicycle, to use the Wildcount’s expression.

 

“Since when you like to dance?”

 

“This is nothing like the waltz, this is fun.”

 

“You should think of the waltz as fun, too—” Deryn grabbed his wrist, and Alek was dragged into dancing in the narrow confines of his room. If Deryn was a bear riding a bicycle, Alek felt like a bear trying to use a bicycle as a boat—and failing. The situation was quickly getting out of hand and since desperate times called for desperate measures, Alek blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Oh, Deryn. You have just given me the best idea.”

 

“What? Me?”

 

Alek’s gaze swept around the room, grasping at straws, and finally landed on his brand new red scarf. For some reason it reminded him of Peter. “We need to call Peter!”

 

“Peter who?” Deryn stopped dancing but the music played on. Alek pressed the CALL button.

 

“ _Hello?_ ” Peter picked up his phone after the first ring.

 

“Ah, backstage ninja Peter!” The penny dropped. “Hi, Peter!”

 

“ _Alek? Deryn?_ ”

 

“Hello, Peter! We…” Miraculously, Alek came up with an idea on the spot. “...need to throw an anti-party for Halloween.”

 

“ _We need antipasti?_ ”

 

“Anti-party!” shouted Deryn over the music.

 

“Actually, it was Deryn’s idea—”

 

“Was not! I haven’t got a clue what he’s talking about.”

 

“An inverse Halloween party.”

 

“ _But who do you want to invite? And who would even come?_ ”

 

“Just us three. We can marathon _Star Wars_ without the loud music and the stupid costumes.” Alek was rapidly warming up to his own idea.

 

“ _Sounds awesome! On a side note, costumes aren’t totally stupid._ ”

 

“Volger will be thrilled,” Deryn rolled her eyes.

 

“Why? We’ll be having popcorn, not drugs.” Alek glanced at the clock and realised that the Wildcount would be bellowing about being late for the game any minute now. “Okay, we’ll talk about the details later, we have to go now. Bye, Peter!”

 

“Bye!”

 

“ _Bye, guys!_ ”

 

They hung up. Tegan and Sara kept singing about goodbyes in the background. Alek swung his gym bag over his shoulder.

 

“Ready?” asked Deryn, muting her phone.

 

“Think so.”

 

“Better?”

 

“Think so?”

 

“Then let’s go! You have a game to win.”

 

“I’m not even in the starter five. I’m only a substitute.”

 

“Who died and said that bench players couldn’t shoot the match-winning shot?”

 

The door closed behind them.

 

***

 

Peter slipped his phone back into his pocket and returned to the living room of the Stark household. Mr. Stark was sitting at the piano, absentmindedly messing around on the keys. He looked up when Peter entered the room.

 

“Good news?”

 

“Sort of? I think I’ve just been invited to a Halloween party. An anti-party, actually, but whatever. First Halloween party ever, yay! I guess. I’m kind of still getting used to the idea.”

 

“Invited by whom?” asked Mr. Stark, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What kind of party?”

 

“Watching _Star Wars_ with Alek and Deryn. Not a real party.”

 

“Alek’s Orsino from Drama Club and Deryn’s the kick-box girl?”

 

“Yes, but please don’t associate Deryn with violence forever just because she once stood up for me,” Peter sighed, exasperation seeping into his voice. Deryn wasn’t a violent girl but was being teased as if it were true ever since the incident with Flash. Obviously, Peter blamed himself for it. “It’s not like she’s beating Flash to a pulp every morning.”

 

“About that: is this Edwin Thompson still bothering you?”

 

“If by ‘bothering’ you mean is Flash being his usual self? Well, he is. MJ threatened to sack him from decathlon, though. I think that made him mad— But anyway, it was very cool of MJ, and it actually toned Flash down a bit, so it worked in the end I guess.” If Peter had a ‘Most Hated Conversational Topics’ list, Flash and his foul deeds would have landed a solid second place. Which would probably have angered Flash more, had he known about it, and one thing for sure, he loved to take out his anger on Peter in the form of nasty comments and some elbowing.

 

“Peter, you need to look out for yourself. Ignoring this talking asshole is not exactly… healthy.” Most hateful topic number three. Peter felt ashamed and a little angry whenever somebody questioned his capability for looking out for himself. It was frustrating how people seemed to treat him like a dumb kid all the time. “You can always come to me, you know that, right? You don’t have to fight the whole world alone.”

 

Peter smiled a small, sad smile. May often said that, too. _You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Tell me if something is wrong. You have me, honey, you’ll always have me._ All things Ben used to say to him, too. And probably also his parents, although Peter couldn’t recall their exact words. He had been very young when they died, but surely, they had been supportive. But there lay the problem: _always_ was just a word. You could _always_ go to a person for help—until they grew tired of you, until they became disappointed with you, until they died.

 

And that was most hateful topic number one. Top scorer and holder of the highest record.

 

“Thank you, but it’s okay.”

 

“Kid, we really need to talk about what you consider okay because trust me, this is the opposite.”

 

“No, really, he’s just pointing out … things. Like that I’m an orphan.” Peter saw that Mr. Stark wanted to cut in, so he quickly went on: “I know he means it as  an insult, but it’s a fact. Also, I know that it’s not my fault. That I’m an orphan, I mean. That’s healthy thinking! At least, I think it is. Anyway, I know he can’t hurt me with words. Believe it or not, I’m stronger than that. So, just drop it. Please. Okay? I’m fine. Just— just drop it.”

 

Mr. Stark looked like he would have wanted to argue further but in the end he relented. “Okay, kid. Whatever you say. I trust you, but whenever you feel you need help—”

 

“Seriously, Mr. Stark, I’ll ask you.”

 

“Okay, okay! Don’t bite my head off.”

 

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled.

 

Mr. Stark picked up a few papers from the top of the piano and neatened them just to do something.

 

“What are you working on?” asked Peter. The papers were so scribbled on, he couldn’t tell if they contained plot ideas for a new novel or development plans for a Stark Industries prototype.

 

“And I thought I left my walking, talking guilty conscience in New York,” Mr. Stark groaned. _Great_ news, she has a minion here. Don’t you dare repeat that to Pepper,” he warned the grinning Peter in a mock-serious tone. “She would kick my lazy butt. Twice. Anyway, I had a shamefully unproductive day. I watched advertisements all morning. Bifröst frozen vegetables, Bovrite beef, Findus fish, TinCo canned goods… All they talk about is food,” he waved his hand dismissively. “But sometimes they can give you the most surprising ideas.”

 

“And did you get inspired?”

 

“Yeah. I was inspired to make pea soup. You hungry, kid?”

 

“So hungry.”

 

Mr. Stark got up from the chair, and motioned Peter towards the kitchen. “Come on then. I cooked a gallon of soup and we can have salted caramel ice cream afterwards.”

 

“Ice cream? In October?” The question “would Miss Pepper approve of that?” was on the tip of Peter’s tongue he held back at the last minute.

 

“Sure, why not? Be adventurous, Peter.” Mr. Stark spread his arms, before quickly backpedalling. “But not too adventurous. Just on the safe side, okay?” Peter knew that rolling his eyes at him was playing with fire but it was also temptation not to be resisted. Even if he got his know-it-all head lightly smacked for it. “From whom did you learn this? Hopefully from May, or I’ll be in grave trouble. I give you an inch and you’re immediately taking a mile.”

 

While Mr. Stark heated the soup, Peter rearranged the magnets on the fridge.

 

“Where are you going on your honeymoon?” he asked, turning the Brandenburg Gate, which spelled _Berlin_ in black-red-yellow letters, in his hand.

 

“Can’t decide. Pepper is travelling so much due to work, she loves to joke that the perfect honeymoon would be to stay at home, shut the doors, shut out the world. Or at least I think it is a joke.” Mr. Stark frowned. “But it would certainly be a nice change to visit a country just for fun. But we can’t even pick a continent. Any suggestions?” He stirred the soup, tasted it, and decided it was warm enough. “Could you take out two bowls, please? They should be in the dishwasher.”

 

“I don’t know many places apart from Rockdwell.” Peter put the magnet back on the fridge and helped to set the table. “But Europe must be nice. All those fairytale-like forests Alek mentioned— medieval castles with knights going on quests but getting lost among the trees forever… I bet that would inspire you more than advertisements do.”

 

Mr. Stark snorted: “Sure thing, kid. Too bad Pepper would kill me if I brought work to our special week.”

 

“You’re such a sourpuss,” pouted Peter.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I’m just saying that it was a perfectly reasonable suggestion,” he said, batting his eyelashes at Mr. Stark. “Mmm, lovely soup!”

 

“Glad you like it, you shameless beast.” Mr. Stark grimaced but watched with satisfaction how much Peter enjoyed his soup.

 

“Not to sound pushy or anything, but will I be invited to your wedding?”

 

“At this rate you will be banned from my wedding.” Of course Peter would give him the sad puppy eyes for that. No rest for Mr. Stark! “Come on, kid, my wedding is in June. Don’t press me into sending out early invitation cards—” The rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat as he made his “new idea” face. “Holy racing snails, I’ve just had the best idea.”

 

“If you are planning on a Halloween party invitation, my schedule is kind of tight,” Peter cracked a smile. He tried to spoon some more soup into his plate without spilling it all over himself.

 

“Not Halloween, no,” Mr. Stark shook his head. “How about you and your aunt hottie coming over for Thanksgiving dinner? I know it’s a bit early for Thanksgiving plans but I want to prep Pep if we’re having guests. She always has a busy schedule, even around the holidays.”

 

“Sounds awesome! Thank you, Mr. Stark, I’ll ask May,” Peter grinned from ear to ear. “Did I mention how good this soup was? Save the recipe for Thanksgiving.”

 

But apparently, Mr. Stark wasn’t quite finished. It seemed like his mind had barely started to race with colourful ideas—almost like when he was plotting a new story, except that he was plotting a dinner instead.

 

“I should invite your little superhero branch, Alek and Deryn, and their plus people, of course. _Herr_ _Schnurrbart_ and Ms. Biology. Maybe her mother and her aunts? I’ve never met them but they must be interesting.” Peter was blinking rapidly in surprise but Mr. Stark still had more to say. “What about MJ? Scary captain and director of you, I’d love to meet her again.”

 

“O-okay,” Peter stammered. “I mean, I don’t really know them—apart from MJ—but they’re your guests, so—”

 

“We could co-guest them,” Mr. Stark offered, enjoying the taste of the word _co-guest_ on his tongue. “Mhm, maybe I could use that word in my next novel.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Peter said but his unsure look immediately sobered Mr. Stark.

 

“Hey, Peter, it’s just an idea. Think about it, will you?” Peter nodded. “If you’re not comfortable with them around, no problem. You and May are still invited for Thanksgiving dinner.”

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

“No pressure.”

 

Peter smiled. “I know and uh, thank you, Mr. Stark. You have the best and most surprising ideas.”

 

“Are we talking about my dinner invitation or my novels now?”

 

At the mention of the novels, Peter perked up. “Alek is an Ironman fan, too, did you know?”

 

“Kid, I met him once and we mostly talked about Shakespeare and super-green forests.”

 

He had also googled _Hohenberg_ and _Austria_ after he had gotten home on that illustrious day. Peter knew because Mr. Stark had shared everything he had found out. The search results told the sad story of a successful Austrian politician Franz F. Hohenberg and his wife, who got in a car accident one rainy November day. Both of them were killed in the accident, leaving their only son an orphan. Mr. Stark had also told him about the the road signs he had once seen in Germany: an image of vultures sitting on a tree-branch alongside the text ‘ _Hallo Raser, wir warten’,_ though he hadn’t translated the words into English for Peter. Listening to him, Peter noticed that Mr. Stark might have been more shaken about it than he wanted to show.

 

“So, kid, what do you say? Think you’re ready for ice cream?”

 

***

 

The Clankers versus The Darwinists (the basketball team of the Charles Darwin High School) game went quite well, despite The Clankers’ defeat in the end, forty-six to fifty-two. Alek scored three times and Deryn made sure to cheer loudly enough to make up for Volger and Nora’s silence beside her.

 

After the game, the four of them decided to have dinner at  Mastriani’s, a pizza place near the mall. It wasn’t crowded and it was known for serving  good but not over-priced pizza; the little company didn’t wish for more.

 

“Salami, pepperoni, and cheese?” Volger asked Alek and the question earned him an approving smile from the boy.

 

“What a good memory! _Alle Achtung!_ ” Alek beamed. It didn’t take much to make him happy. “What are you having?”

 

“A margherita, please,” ordered Nora. Plain and simple.

 

“A Hawaiian pizza,” said Deryn and Volger almost inaudibly huffed. Almost. “What? Can’t a girl like pineapples?”

 

“Mind if I put this away?” Volger picked up the candle from their table and used it to avoid Deryn’s affronted gaze. “I fear I’ll knock it over.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind for the future,” Nora smirked. “No candle-lit dinners.”

 

Volger almost replied with a _not in front of the kids_ but he thought better of it in the end. Also, he didn’t want to give her the opportunity to remind him of their promised dance date. He was still unsure about that. Did she mean him to take her out somewhere to dance or did she expect him to pole dance for her? One could never be a hundred percent sure when it came to Nora and her extraordinary and wicked mind.

 

“Don’t be too hard on the Wildcount,” Alek said.

 

“Why do you call him _Wildcount_?” Nora enquired. All these months of acquaintance, yet she had never asked it before.

 

“I call him _Graf_ , actually. But I realised Wildcount sounds funnier— I mean, better, so I started to use that, too.”

 

“Okay, but why call him _Graf?_ ” Deryn prodded.

 

Volger took over: “Well, I used to babysit him when he was little—”

 

“You’re kidding!” Deryn gasped and even Nora lifted an eyebrow.

 

“Seriously,” the two Austrians nodded in unison.

 

“I’m sorry, I just can’t picture you chasing around a toddler—”

 

“First, he wasn’t a toddler, and second, most of the time he was chasing me,” Volger corrected Nora.

 

She shut her eyes and scrunched up her nose in deep concentration. “No, sorry, I still can’t see it,” she said, opening her eyes.

 

Volger shrugged. “Your loss. Anyway, in our games I usually played the role of the mysterious _Graf_ or Wildcount, or what have you, with no money in his pockets but with devious schemes in his head—”

 

“Devious? How fitting.” He wanted to kiss that annoying smirk away from Nora’s face.

 

“Let me guess. Alek, you played the brave young hero who defended the land from the sneaky Wildcount?” Deryn started to warm up to the story.

 

“Yes, something like that. But sometimes I played a pirate who was an even bigger devil than the Wildcount. Swords clashed, castles were burnt to the ground, and treasure was lost and found again… You know, adventures,” the birthday boy concluded.

 

“Wow.”

 

“Yeah, wow,” repeated Volger softly.

 

He wondered when Alek had become this lanky, sixteen-year-old guy. High school student, basketball player, Drama Club actor, fencer—all just labels stuck on him. Was there really such a big difference between chasing a basketball in a gym and chasing his godfather in the flat? Probably.

 

He reached for his glass of mineral water, and suddenly it reminded him of the family dinners when little boy Alek was allowed to have two glasses of coke. Two whole glasses! Then he would turn the flat upside down. Now, when the waiter asked for their drink order, Alek chose water, seeking to soothe his parched throat after an hour-and-half long game.

 

Volger looked around the table. There sat Alek, tired, hungry but amicable as ever; next to him, Deryn fidgeted like the bag of ants she was. Facing Volger, Nora smiled subtly, more of an eye than a lips thing, a bit cocky and lovely at the same time.

 

To hell with nostalgia and memories that make you sad, Volger thought and raised his glass. “Happy birthday, Aleksandar!”

 

***

 

“Good night, Peter.”

 

Tony almost switched off the light like he used to when Peter spent the night at his place as a small boy, stopping himself just in time. Peter was a teenager now, perfectly capable of turning off the lights when he was ready. If he wanted to read one more chapter, who was Tony to stop him?

 

“Good night, Mr. Stark. Could you, er, could you turn the light off? I think I’m too sleepy to read.”

 

“Of course.” Tony welcomed darkness as a friend—better to turn into a goo of emotions under the veil of the night. Apparently, small-boy-Peter wasn’t completely gone. Good news, because Tony knew that a part of him would never stop seeing Peter as a kid. In his defense, it was hard to see him as a teenager with those childish features and big, innocent eyes. _Friendly neighbor, not his grandmother,_ Tony reminded himself, _so no need to be overly sentimental_. “Sleep tight, kid.”

 

“Sweet dreams,” the kid muttered, half-asleep already.

 

Tony didn’t bother to point out that he never remembered his dreams, unless he had nightmares. It hadn’t turn him into Edgar Allan Poe yet but there was still plenty of time for that. Tony Stark was a decent writer—a good writer, even—he knew that, and also knew that it was because he walked the Earth with an open mind, always ready to get hooked by a new plot idea. His works weren’t revolutionary or epoch-making but they were well-written in addition to being popular. Tony hadn’t lied when he said in an interview that he felt pleased with his life.

 

He’d lived through some bad times, sure, and had memories that he wished he could leave behind. Like when Obadiah Stane, his father’s trusted friend and business partner, a pillar of Stark Industries after Howard Stark’s death, tried to sell Tony’s newest innovation to a rival company. Or when Steve, Tony’s trusted friend, turned his back on him after a disagreement and walked out of his life because both of them were too proud to reconcile with each other. Or when Tony learnt that his parents had died in a car accident. He was older than Alek or Peter had been when he lost his parents, but that didn’t make it hurt less.

 

He took a deep breath, counted to five, then shakily exhaled. He needed to come up with good memories—after all, Peter wanted him to have sweet dreams. Peter. The kid was always a good starting point, a beacon of light. Tony tried to focus on the kid; recalling the first ever night that Peter spent at his place. The boy was barely ten and just recovering from a nasty cold when Ben and May were invited to a wedding. As it became obvious that they couldn’t take their nephew with them, they planned to politely decline the invitation. Then Tony stepped in and reasoned with them: Peter was almost back on his feet, only needed to rest a bit more, and the Stark household was a perfect place for resting. Ben and May wouldn’t be gone for more than a day and a night and they could always call to check on their nephew. No, it would be no trouble for Tony, not at all. May had been worried about leaving Peter for the night but the kid reassured her that he would be fine with Tony. So the Parkers accepted the offer, and, after seeing that Tony handed their nephew back in one piece, they allowed Peter to spend the night over whenever he was invited ands up to it. And Peter, much to Tony’s delight, loved to stay over with him.

 

Sometimes they watched movies, or played video games—or played baseball and broke windows. Sometimes they went out cycling around the town, sometimes they just stayed in and read in peaceful silence. Sometimes Tony played the piano while Peter listened, curled up on the couch. Sometimes he showed the kid the sketches he made for his models. Peter was really good at drawing, and he had a brain filled with scientific knowledge, always ready to learn more—and Tony was amazed by the suggestions he came up with sometimes. Not about writing, though. He never showed the kid his drafts as writing was a private thing for him.

 

As he was preparing for bed, Tony realised that Peter had gotten his own room in the house before Pepper did. Well, of course Pepper shared the bedroom with Tony; nevertheless, the kid had taken up a permanent place in his home before his fiancé did. All thanks to a cat that decided to run in front of a car.

 

Tony switched off the lamp on his bedside table and stretched out under his blanket. He glanced up at the window: since the curtains drawn back, he could see the night sky, although the light pollution hid the stars from his eyes. No chance for a shooting star tonight, but he didn’t mind. He wasn’t asking for much anyway. People came into his life and people left but  as long as Pepper, Peter, and May stayed, that would be enough for him.


	5. Giving Thanks

Tony’s voicemail said:

 

_Good morning, Mr. Stark! I just called to say that your Thanksgiving dinner invitation is gladly accepted by May and my humble self. Thank you! If the invitation still stands, of course. May is asking whether she should bake something for the occasion? Maybe prepare a salad? You’re the boss, so just tell us what should we do! Also, I’m sure that Alek, MJ, and Deryn would love to attend the dinner, too. It was very nice of you to think of them! Should I ask them about it? Or do you want me to send you their numbers? I’m sorry if I’m overthinking it, I’m just so excited! I mean, there’s plenty of time until the dinner, and I hope I’ll see you in the meantime. If you’re okay with that; I know you’re busy. You’re probably very busy right now, too. I’m almost at school anyway. I hope you and Miss Pepper have a nice day! Have a nice week, too! Bye!_

 

***

 

Ever since the Halloween anti-party (when they had—not quite according to their original plans—binge-watched the first season of _Battlestar Galactica_ and eaten tons of caramel popcorn) the trio spent more and more time together. Deryn found her and Jaspert’s old bicycles, and Alek fixed them (" _You almost let these two beauties rust to death!”_ ), so they could roam the town on two wheels with Peter. The three of them made some excellent trips together, like...

 

...when they visited the Rockdwell Science Museum:

“And this is the Rockdwell Science Museum. Ta-dah!”

“Awesome!”

“You said that to the town library, too.”

“Yeah, Deryn, because my vocabulary is limited.”

“Guys, guys! Stop fighting in front of the temple of awesomeness. Ready to explore?”

 

...or when they hiked to the rock the town was named after:

“This is Bruce.”

“Nice rock, and um, very big. Big, strong rock.”

“Relax, Alek. By the way, I never understood if the rock is called Bruce, why isn’t the town called Brucedwell?!”

“Because for a long time Bruce was just a nameless rock, it only got its name much later after the town was founded. It’s named after Bruce Banner, famous scientist, who lived and practiced science in Rockdwell. In fact, we’re standing on the Bruce Banner Walking And Biking Trail.”

“Peter, you’re a fount of knowledge. Seriously.”

“Er, thanks, Deryn?”

“I love how striking green it is because of all the moss covering the surface. Awesome!”

 

Meanwhile, the rehearsals continued:

“There is no way you’re putting a banana in my pants.”

“Deryn, it’s only to help—”

“Are those ping-pong balls in your hands?”

“Yes?”

“I’m filing for a restraining order now.”

“Maybe it would be for the best not to try the balls, Michelle.”

“But Mrs. Winterhalter…!”

“No buts, young lady.”

“I never thought I would live to see the day when Mrs. Winterhalter said the words _balls_ and _butts_ ,” whispered Alek, fascinated. Peter didn’t have the heart to correct him.

 

Besides the hard work, they had still time to have some fun.

“Backstage ninjas assemble!”

“Lee and I agree that it’s bonding time!”

“Time to get to know each other better, so we thought this Friday would be a perfect bowling night.”

“What do you think? Ready to rock those balls?”

 

But of course, they had some teary-eyed days, too.

“Nice rain boots, Kamala. Love the puzzle design.”

“Wha—? Oh, thanks, Peter.”

“It’s totally not my business and I might not be able to help, but can I ask what’s troubling you? Because no offense but you have like two gallons of water in your eyes.”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“I’m a hundred percent sure I have a hanky somewhere.. Here, take it.”

“Thanks. So, I know my parents are trying to be relaxed and flexible but after I accidentally called the bowling night a party, they decided it wouldn’t mix well with the no booze, no boys rule. And I wanted to go with you so much!”

“I can always dress up and pretend to be a girl, if that helps. Or you can tell them that I’m going out with Alek, so I won’t be a threat to you.”

“You’re very nice, Pete, but they’re allergic to parties, no help to that. I just feel like an idiot for— Wait a minute, are you really going out with Alek?”

“No, not like a couple! I didn’t mean it like that. We’re going out to the woods. We’re hiking! Oh my god, I just meant that I could pretend to be in a gay relationship for you, Kamala.”

“Whoa, Peter, that’s really— really touching.”

 

Sadly, Flash never stopped being a bully.

“Hey, Penis! Last year you were going everywhere with big fat Ned Leeds and you’ve already moved on to Nazi Alex Holberg? You’re changing boyfriends more often than you’re changing pants!”

“His name is Hohenberg,” Peter mumbled, his voice drowned out by Flash’s laughter.

 

Luckily, Peter had people around him who wanted to make him smile, not cry.

“Alek, can I copy your Spanish homework? I won’t have time to finish mine, I have to kick Flash in the face.”

“Don’t bother. I don’t want to get you suspended again, he’s not worth it.”

“But you are!”

“Thank you, Deryn. It’s very nice of you.”

“I heard you told Kamala that you’d pretend to be gay for her. That was very nice, too. If you want a reason, that’s a good example why you’re worth risking suspension again.”

“Yeah, that was a really nice gesture! I wish I had someone to offer to play gay for me.”

“I wish, Alek, that once in a while you would think before you opened your mouth.”

“Guys, you’re very kind but there’s no need to kick anyone for me. It’s enough if you come to Mr. Stark’s Thanksgiving dinner with me.”

“You bet we’ll go.”

“Yeah. A dinner with Ironman? That’s a dream come true!”

 

 

And finally, the day of the Thanksgiving dinner arrived.

 

When Pepper came down to the kitchen that morning, she found Tony surrounded by vegetables, flour, butter, and a huge turkey. Her lazy morning self (pyjama top, grey sweatpants, and a pair of fuzzy socks) planted a kiss on her fiancé’s cheek. Her everyday observant self casted a look around the kitchen, checked the ingredients and drew the conclusion:

 

“Stuffed turkey, sweet potatoes and gravy? How traditional.”

 

“And I’m making two pies for dessert: apple pie and pumpkin pie,” Tony boasted, dramatically holding up a sizeable pumpkin.

 

“You don’t even like pumpkin. Neither does Peter.”

 

“But you do.”

 

“Sweet.” Pepper fished out the cereal from behind the pile of potatoes. “How is Peter? I haven’t seen him for a while.”

 

“That’s because both of you are extremely busy.” Tony handed the milk to his fiancé. “Otherwise, the kid is fine. I haven’t seen much of him lately either. He’s being awesome in the decathlon team as usual, he’s also doing this Drama Club thing, and he’s making new friends. Or I hope so. Tonight’s dinner is sort of my... approval for his friend-making efforts. This is me, encouraging him but not interfering with his life. You know, I need to respect his privacy and his— his boundaries, and let him make his own mistakes.”

 

“Don’t overthink it.”

 

He sighed. “I know, and I’m trying not to. I’m just still not sure if he needs encouragement from me.”

 

“Tony, we’ve talked about it.” Pepper pushed her bowl away and tried to take her fiancé’s hand—which meant leaning over the table, which meant round apples pressing into her belly. Ouch. “But we can talk about it as many times as you need. You don’t have to do anything but be your best self.”

 

“I’m not sure—” he stopped mid-sentence. “Okay, let’s just leave it at that for now. I want to see Peter’s stupid face, everyone else is just bonus, that’s the ugly truth.”

 

Pepper smiled and resumed eating her breakfast. “Tell me more about our guests.”

 

“Rhodey is coming, Peter and May are coming, of course, and I have invited some of Peter’s schoolmates and their parents. MJ can’t come because they are going on a family trip. As for the people who are coming! First, there is the Scottish girl who punched the guy bullying Peter.”

  


Deryn unashamedly spent the whole morning with Lilit—in a way, at least. They were messaging back and forth. Lilit started it.

 

lil a: hi, pinky :)

D. Sharp: hey :P

lil a: watcha doin?

D. Sharp: nothin

D. Sharp: my aunt’s making apple-cinnamon muffins. offered to help but she wouldn’t let me any near to the kitchen.

 

Right after hitting the SEND button, Deryn buried her head in her pillow. Congratulations, idiot, she thought, because talking about your aunt’s baking activities would turn any girl’s head.

 

lil a: u r texting me

lil a: that’s not nothing ;)

D. Sharp: and what’s up with you?

lil a: apart from chatting w/ a nice girl? not much.

lil a: just listening to some music

D. Sharp: what music?

lil a: Beautiful Trauma

lil a: I <3 Pink

D. Sharp: she’s my fav too

D. Sharp: :)

lil a: fav song?

D. Sharp: difficult question…

D. Sharp: Just Like A Pill, i guess

lil a: nice choice :)

lil a: love that song, too

 

Deryn grinned and rolled onto her back. Cinnamon-apple muffins might not turn a girl’s head but P!nk would turn _hers_. She had to ask herself the question again: how did she not notice before that Lilit’s amazingness level was over ten thousand?

  


Tony counted the guests on his fingers:

“Then there is an Austrian history teacher with a disturbing moustache and his adopted son. As far as I know, Peter spends an awfully lot of time with the latter nowadays.”

  


“I bought wine for tonight,” the Wildcount announced during lunch.

 

“Shouldn’t we bring something Austrian?”

 

“Feel free to let me know if they start selling Almdudler in Rockdwell.”

 

“Maybe we could prepare something,” Alek suggested. “We spend an awful lot of time in the kitchen, just never cooking. It’d make a nice change to actually bake something here. A dessert, for example.”

 

“Like what? Apple strudel?”

 

“No, not that,” he shook his head, smiling a little. “As much as I love apple strudel, Mama had always trouble making it, so I imagine it must be super complicated.”

 

At the mention of Alek’s late mother, Volger tensed. Alek noticed it and immediately decided to drop the topic. Five days ago was the one year anniversary of his parents’ death; Volger probably expected him to think more about them, rather than dinner invitations or desserts. He didn’t know what was going on in the Wildcount’s head, not really. Alek usually assumed Volger was fine and spending time with Doctor Barlow. But as he himself mostly spent his time away from home, he couldn’t be sure. The Wildcount could just as well as have spent his afternoons looking through pictures of his late friends.

 

“Wine will do just fine. What should I wear?” Alek asked quickly, in order to change the subject.

 

“Something casual, I guess. Consult that friend of yours.”

 

“Which one?”

 

That felt almost too good to ask. _Which one?_ , a question that implied he had more than one friend now. Alek twisted and turned the thought in his mind, tasted it, and found that he liked it very much.

  
  


“Oh, and their neighbor, too; she’s a teacher at Peter’s school and also the girlfriend of _Herr_ Moustache.” Tony finished counting. “You know, love thy neighbor and all that jazz.”

 

“We’re going to have very interesting dinner-guests,” Pepper concluded as she put her bowl into the sink. “I’m ready to chop vegetables, oh Captain, my Captain!”

 

***

 

Rhodey was the first one to arrive. Pepper drove to the Bangor International Airport to pick him up while Tony was busy butchering a pumpkin at home.

 

“Hey Rhodey, lookin’ good,” he greeted his friend when Rhodey finally stepped into the house. “Make yourself at home. I might have put a late birthday present on your bed.”

 

“Is it a pair of pink socks again?” Rhodey asked with a smile.

 

“I’m mature now. Old enough to know better. But those were great socks, weren’t they?”

 

“Forever my favorite pair.”

  
  


Peter and May came next, and Pepper gave warm hugs to both of them.

 

“I haven’t seen you two for ages,” she complained.

 

When he met Pepper for the first time, Peter had been ten and spellbound by the woman’s looks and manners. To him, Pepper looked like a real pirate: she had ginger hair and wore an eyepatch. She’d lost her left eye to a tumor when she was barely two, though it didn’t keep her from acting like she had eyes in the back of her head. Mr. Stark often joked he should invent a high-tech glass eye and name it Mad-Eye Pepper, but she always waved it off. She was fine with her eyepatch and pirate looks. Even though he felt the deepest love and highest respect for May Parker, little Peter was fascinated by strong-minded Virginia “Pepper” Potts and never ceased to admire her as one of the coolest women walking the surface of Earth.

 

Peter often acted shy around Pepper, even though she was always kind to him. But of course, he was shy with Mr. Rhodes, too, whom he had only met a few times. He hoped that Alek or Deryn would turn up soon, because he didn’t feel he could add anything to the animated conversation between May, Pepper, and Mr. Rhodes.

 

“Hey, kid, can you lend me a hand?” Mr. Stark appeared behind him. “Or a mouth, actually. I need you to taste the gravy and the potato.” Of course Peter joined him in the kitchen. “I gotta tell you kid, cooking is usually more relaxing. The stress of making the perfect turkey, not dry but friable? I could tell you the wildest tales about it. And pumpkins are some mean, fierce vegetables. They downright made me sweat. How is the gravy?”

 

“Great, as you’d expect from a perfectionist,” Peter smiled. “Also, you need a hobby. Something—what was your word?—relaxing.”

 

“I already have one. I write books, remember?” Mr. Stark stirred the gravy one more time, then turned off the stove under the pot.

 

“That is not a hobby, that is a pitiful excuse to work some more.”

 

“Is that so?” he frowned. “In that case my next novel will have a character based on you—”

 

“Cool!”

 

“—and he will be abducted by hostile aliens on the second page and never heard of again.”

 

Peter pouted. “Nobody would buy that.”

  
  


The rest of the guests arrived together in Doctor Barlow’s car. The two adults had decided tonight’s designated driver with rock-paper-scissors.

 

“I should get my driving license. That would solve this problem until I start my drinking phase,” Alek suggested. He was wearing his birthday blue coat, as Deryn preferred to call it, and a smug grin.

 

“Backseat babies don’t get to drive my car. Or drink alcohol.”

 

“Actually, the legal drinking age is sixteen in Austria,” he announced with an innocent expression.

 

“But you’re not in Austria anymore,” Doctor Barlow retorted.

 

“Aye, but minors are allowed to consume alcohol in the presence of their legal guardian,” Deryn chimed in, looking very self-pleased in the rearview mirror.

 

Doctor Barlow sniffed. “Guess who is not in the presence of her legal guardian tonight and definitely not going to drink any alcoholic beverages. Oh, look at you, Deryn Sharp, you poor thing.” She glanced at Volger, whose shoulders seemed to be slightly shaking. “Do you find us amusing, Ernst, or are you having an epileptic fit?”

 

Somehow they managed to reach their destination without Doctor Barlow strangling “this annoying man”. Now Alek understood why Peter once described their end of the street as _shady_. He always thought it was perfectly normal: small gardens with small houses but all of them looking well-tended and friendly. Now, compared to these houses, well, they truly looked a bit shady. Mr. Stark’s house was double-storied with a huge lawn, and appeared very modern. The amount of glass amazed Alek, although the colours of the rooms were elegant but a bit cold: silver and white everywhere. It differed very much from his old home back in Austria, which his mother had happily decorated in the vintage industrial style. On the other hand, this house seemed to resemble the inside of a spaceship—Alek wouldn’t be surprised if robots served dinner. The house looked a bit empty even, like a messy room would after everything was pushed under the sofa or hidden in the closet.

 

“Hi, Alex.”

 

“Don’t worry. He used to call Ned different names, too, like Ted or Ed—” Peter’s head emerged over Mr. Stark’s head, a bit unsteadily as he was balancing on tiptoes. “Wow, Mr. Stark, soon I’ll be taller than you!”

 

“You wish.” Mr. Stark grimaced.

 

“Please call him Alek or at least Aleksandar. Everyone gets his name wrong at school. Don’t be everyone.”

 

“Yeah, Peter, like I never need to remind you to call me Tony instead of Mr. Stark.”

  
  


After the initial greetings and introductions, Stark asked for a little more patience until dinner, and they settled down in the living room. Volger could see Alek eyeing the piano with appreciation. He knew how much his godson had hated piano lessons but he enjoyed playing the instrument. Sadly, when they decided to move, playing the piano was one of the many things they left behind.

 

“So, you must get this question a hundred times,” James Rhodes addressed Volger, “but why Rockdwell?”

 

“My original idea was Switzerland. But then Alek asked if we could move further,” he explained. “He wanted to see America. And— Well, why not? I remembered an old acquaintance, Jürgen Klopp, who moved to the US a few years ago.”

 

Whenever Volger questioned or grew unsure in his decision, he reminded himself that Klopp had been sixty years old when he had decided to move to Chicago along with Bauer, his nephew, and Hoffmann, Bauer’s partner.

 

“I contacted him, and he helped a lot, gave some good ideas about the hows and wheres. He even flew here from Chicago with Bauer and Hoffman to help us settle down.”

 

“Yeah, and we plan to visit them in Chicago sometime,” Alek chimed in.

 

“Sometime,” Volger repeated very firmly. “Anyway, a huge, busy city looked like a big step, maybe a bit too big to chew—”

 

“I think you’re mixing the metaphors,” Nora smiled viciously.

 

“She can be very mean when she’s hungry,” Volger whispered loudly. Before his beloved could have killed him with her glare, much to the amusement of the others in the room, Stark appeared at the door.

 

“Dinner’s ready,” he announced.

  
  


Since the house lacked a dining room, they gathered in the kitchen to eat. The food was prepared and consumed on the very same table. In Rhodey’s opinion, for a man who enjoyed cooking, Tony had the most ridiculous and least practical table in the world. It was trapeze shaped—not the legs, as it would have made some sense, but the tabletop. Rhodey tried and failed to make Tony understand why it was the worst purchase ever.

 

“But this way we can line up all the food on the longer side, sit on the shorter side, and admire the spectacle!”

 

“I’ll ask Pepper if she prefers admiring food to watching TV,” Rhodey muttered.

 

Of course, tonight Tony couldn’t place all of his guests on the shorter side to make them admire the menu on the other, they had to sit around the table.

 

 

 

“If I’d had to place my bet on someone turning up with muffins, I’d have placed it on you,” Tony said to Nora, while he was slicing the turkey and serving it onto the plates May handed him.

 

The British woman couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s really... kind, I guess. But I don’t care much about cooking.”

 

“Yes, she really doesn’t,” Volger approved, which only resulted in Nora elbowing him. “What now? Never mind. I can’t cook either.”

 

“Your pasta is fine,” Alek tried to defend his godfather’s cooking skills. Tony’s gaze turned to him before it shifted to Deryn.

 

“Don’t look at us, we are teenagers,” she shrugged, “we are supposed to be kitchen disasters.”

 

“Seriously?” Tony looked at them in disbelief. “So who baked the muffins? They don’t look store-bought.”

 

Deryn shook her head. “All credit goes to my aunt Becca. I think my aunts secretly enjoy that both my brother and I are spending the evening somewhere else.”

 

“I doubt that,” May smiled.

 

“You only say that because you don’t know me,” Deryn said with a twinkle, “or Jaspert.”

 

Tony was still not over the fact that the vast majority of his guests couldn’t tell a pot from a pan, so to speak. “Okay, but what do you eat? Rhodey, stop grinning like the cat that got the cream. Ladies and gentlemen, meet James Rhodes, the uncrowned lord of canned soups. But just so you know, nutrition is important for human beings; I would like to draw Ms. Biology’s attention to this information.” Tony gave a pointed look to Nora, who huffed with a small smile tugged on her lips.

 

“And what about you?” Volger asked. “Can you cook?”

 

“Yes, I can.”

 

“Actually, he prepared tonight’s menu,” Pepper chipped in, “I was only his scullion.”

 

“How did you come to cook?”

 

“Your surprise is very gender-biased.” Deryn shot a rather impudent grin at the puzzled Mr. Moustache-Man. “Who says men can’t cook?”

 

“I didn’t say anything of the kind—”

 

“Can we eat first and debate gender later?” Peter asked in a polite and patient tone. “I was sad when MJ told me she couldn’t come tonight, but I can see that you chose to represent her spirit, Deryn.”

 

" _B_ _on appétit_!” said Tony. He started to get slightly worried about his guests; he hoped they’d finish the turkey before they finished each other. “Dig in!”

 

" _M_ _ahlzeit!_ ” Alek nodded and now May couldn’t resist but add, “ _Buon appetito!_ ”

 

For a while they ate in satisfied silence and only spoke to praise the food. Tony looked around and felt immensely pleased with himself. Who cared about gender-biased stereotypes when he could make such excellent turkey? Especially since, as Pepper pointed out while she was peeling carrots, they’d never bothered with eating traditional meals on Thanksgiving. Usually they were too tired to care and didn’t want to spend hours in the kitchen. Sometimes Tony didn’t even stop working for the weekend—the perils of a home office. Maybe Peter was right, maybe he _did_ work a bit too much.

 

“Shit!” Deryn exclaimed when a piece of potato escaped from her fork and landed in her lap.

 

“Language,” came the warning from Nora immediately. “No swear words at the table! Or anywhere else, as a matter of fact.”

 

“Sorry,” Deryn mumbled and punished the troublesome potato by chewing it heartily. “At least it didn’t land on the tablecloth.”

 

“Nice tablecloth, by the way,” commented May. Said piece of table linen had a butter yellow geometric print on it, and more importantly, it was rarely used so didn’t have food stains on it. Yet.

 

“It was a gift from Phil; he was our neighbor.”

 

“Until, of course, he married a cellist and the happy couple decided to move to Portland,” Tony added to Pepper’s explanation. “They’re still in the same state as us, no big deal. We’re still practically neighbors.”

 

Rhodey took a sip of his wine before addressing the kids on his left. “I’m sorry if this is another stupid question but I’ve lost track of how you all know each other. Did all four of you move here... together?”

 

“Nae,” Deryn replied, shaking her head. “I was born and raised in Glasgow. We moved here, to my aunts’ house in case you’re interested, when I was eleven, with my mum and my brother. See? We had our anchors in the US, just like Alek and Mr. Volger did. Coincidentally, Doctor Barlow arrived to Rockdwell at the same time as I did. Right, Doctor Barlow? What a coincidence!”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“And coincidentally, years later, we moved into the very same street,” Alek joined the conversation. “How likely is that? We’re neighbours, just like Peter is neighbours with Mr. Stark. Awesome!”

 

“If you put it that way, you make Rockdwell seem like a wee little village,” Tony said. “May, would you be so kind to pass me the potatoes, please?”

 

“I’ll have dreams of these delicious potatoes for nights,” May said as she handed him the bowl. “At least, I hope I will.”

 

“Last night I dreamt that I had turned into a giant spider.” Peter dunked a piece of turkey into the gravy on his plate.

 

“Stop reading Kafka.”

 

“Mr. Stark, I’ve never read Kafka,” the kid protested so vehemently it almost cost him his turkey. “Ssshh— shanty! The tablecloth is in grave danger from me.”

 

“I remember how much you always hated when someone told you not to read something.” May chuckled at Peter. “You sulked for days when we didn’t let you read Tony’s novels.”

 

“May, don’t embarrass me,” whined the kid. He looked like he was seriously contemplating hiding under the table. “You make me sound like a baby.”

 

“Why, I lent you the best books in that era of scarcity,” Tony said. “ _The Last Dragon Chronicles_ were not baby books. The _Artemis Fowl_ stories? Definitely not. You loved the _Wind on Fire_ trilogy and that’s not for babies, either.”

 

“Okay, I get your point.”

 

“And don’t forget who introduced you to the works of Terry Pratchett!”

 

“You forgot to mention the amazing moment when I scored more points than you in a Harry Potter quiz.”

 

 

 

Alek listened to the conversation with envy gnawing at his heart. He had never had a friend with whom he could talk about books, not before he met Peter. Truth to be told, before he met him and Deryn, he hadn’t even had friends. He had budding friendships when he was younger—but then they moved from Vienna and he was sent to that posh boarding school. Alek couldn’t connect with his schoolmates; they misinterpreted his reserved nature as giving himself airs. And while his parents were amazing in every aspect, they didn’t share their son’s tastes in books. His father preferred to read sociology essays and history books, while his mother was head over heels for poems and realist fiction. Alek could never have a proper conversation about the real depths of _Harry Potter_ with them, for example; they dismissed his burning questions about the Wizarding World as “cute”, which infuriated him. But of course, infuriating was better than dead. Alek missed his parents beyond words and he felt grateful for tonight’s dinner. It helped him to forget about nightmares and the painful emptiness inside him. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit envious of Peter. Even though Peter looked at Tony as his mentor, rather than as his friend, they clearly shared something special.

 

Alek needed to remind himself that Peter’s best friend now lived in Oregon—and Ned sounded like an awesome guy, surely more awesome than Alek. He should feel grateful, not envious, that Peter let him into his life. He was invited to this dinner—a real Thanksgiving dinner at his favourite author’s home—because he was a little planet in Peter’s universe now. Or something like that. Alek definitely had to work on that metaphor.

  
  


“How do you like the backstager life so far, Peter?” Nora asked.

 

The kid swallowed so quickly he almost choked on his food. “It’s fine but we haven’t had much work yet. Stan and Lee said the big stuff should be coming soon now, then we can distribute the tasks. I can’t decide what I’d like to do! The light board sounds exciting but also the props department sounds fun…? Dunno. Luckily, I don’t have to make up my mind for a week more at least.”

 

The hard thing with Peter was, Tony thought, that you couldn’t always decide whether he was rambling out of excitement or sheer nervousness. Right now he was ninety percent sure that the kid had shifted from scared by Ms. Biology to excited by backstager stuff while talking, but that still left a ten percent uncertainty.

 

“Stan and Lee are our stage managers,” the kid explained. “They’re really cool. For example, they organised a bowling party for us to bond. On a side note, bowling is basically just a question of physics. Clever game! Everybody on the team is really nice; I haven’t talked much with them, though, but I think they are okay. Always super kind.”

 

“Aye, and super helpful!” Deryn nodded eagerly. “The other day we were trying to find a pair of trousers for my costume, and Kamala and Hannah were very patient with me. It’s very hard to find the perfect trousers. It has something to do with character building.”

 

Nora raised her eyebrows. “You seem to keep forgetting that there is more to this role than wearing men’s clothes. Pants on a girl look anything but shocking. Remember, Deryn. It’s not the pants nor the looks. It’s how you carry yourself, not how you dress up.”

 

“Especially when you’ve been too lazy to do your laundry, so you’ll wear _anything_ if it’s clean. Your roommate’s pants, for example.” Rhodey winked.

 

“Don’t let him tell old anecdotes about our time at MIT,” Tony warned them, “for the sake of everyone’s sanity.”

 

“I know that you’re secretly proud of your uni shenanigans.”

 

He threw up his hands in surrender. “Poof, you got me.”

 

“Let me tell you about the _one_ time Tony tried to do the laundry and turned all my underpants pink…”

 

“His techniques are more sophisticated now,” Pepper chuckled. “I made him practice.”

 

“The one time I let Peter near the washing-machine, he did wild things to our clothes,” May interjected.

  
  


From Peter’s groan, Alek sensed his friend preferred to leave this story untold, so quickly rushed to his help. “Umm, hey, Peter, yesterday I watched _Demons of the Punjab,_ so now I’m right behind you with my _Doctor Who_ watching experience!”

 

It didn’t fit into the conversation, he just said the first thing relating to Peter that came to his mind, but it immediately distracted everyone’s attention from the question of laundry. In Alek’s opinion, laundry wasn’t a very interesting topic anyway.

 

“Wait a minute,” Deryn frowned, “you’ve covered ten and a half seasons of _Doctor Who_ in less than a month?”

 

“How much time did you spend watching TV?” Volger joined the frowning. He usually assumed Alek knew what he was doing—and that he wouldn’t do anything reckless. But he never thought about what the kid was _really_ doing.

 

“It was English practice!” Alek said, a bit defensively. “Also, it’s fun.”

 

“It is,” Mr. Stark agreed. “Although I’m stuck at _Arachnids in the UK_. I hadn’t got time to go on with watching.”

 

“ _Arachnids in the UK_ is my favorite episode from this season so far,” Peter chirped. “I mean, can you remember a time when the Doctor and their companions had to face something not alien? Like, I don’t know, a bunch of overgrown spiders, which happened to grow so big due to humans’ recklessness. Not alien technology but stupid, negligent humanity. We should pay more attention to our trash.”

 

Deryn raised an eyebrow in appreciation. “Wow. You spend a lot of time with MJ nowadays, don’t you? By the way, what about my _Doctor Who_ marathon now? You promised me a marathon. Or I made you promise. Whatever.”

 

Peter cast her a guilty glance. “Sorry. But we could always marathon _Star Wars_ instead. Those’re my favorite, you know. Especially the classic trilogy.”

  
  


Everybody felt stuffed like the turkey they’d eaten, and dessert was still ahead of them. Rhodey leaned back, silently inspecting the others: it was the most diverse company ever gathered at Tony’s place. In Tony’s new home, he corrected himself, because he remembered the friends’ nights back in New York with Steve, Thor, Clint and Nat. That lot was quite a handful; this group was more reserved. Except maybe the Scottish girl, Deryn. It was good to see Tony so relaxed. Rhodey was his oldest friend and he had seen his wildest days and nights, but now it seemed that with every passing year, Tony calmed down more and more. Maybe he was finally growing up? Rhodey doubted it. But Tony Stark had matured a lot since they had first met and that was something. And this? This was the perfect ambience the man needed. He had the most patient woman of the world by his side, and he had Peter (the so often mentioned _kid_ ) and May to teach him responsibility. He’d made some new friends but kept at least one old friend. Since he’d permanently moved to Rockdwell, Rhodey missed his friend’s constant and annoying presence, but at least Tony was on the right track now.

  
  


“I feel so full I fear I’ll never be able to get up again.” May sighed happily.

 

“This dinner was delicious,” Alek agreed. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

 

“You can thank me by eating a slice of pie. Maybe two slices.”

 

“Maybe a bit later?” suggested Rhodey. “Let’s honor the memory of the turkey first.”

 

As usual, Pepper found the perfect solution. “How about we move to the living room? You can rest there while I organise things here. I’ll take out the pies and the plates as soon as I find them in this mess.”

 

Tony lingered in the kitchen after his guests left the room, basking in the beautiful presence of his fiancé. He pressed a kiss onto her neck, then offered to help. Pepper gently refused.

 

“No, no, it’s my turn. You go and entertain our guests.”

 

When he stepped into the living room, a heated debate was going on between Peter and Deryn. They were using some very sophisticated arguments and comebacks:

 

“Batman is so cooooooool!” Peter said.

 

“Go home, batboy.”

 

“What’s happening here?” asked Tony.

 

“We’re debating who is the coolest superhero.”

 

“Why, it’s obvious,” Nora turned her attention on the teenagers, “Bicycle Repairman.”

 

“But how?” replied Deryn without missing a beat. “Anyway, Batman is just a guy with fancy tech.”

 

“My point exactly!” Peter persisted in his opinion. “He’s not an alien, he doesn’t possess superpowers, he’s literally just a guy with fancy tech who decides to fight against evil. He’s rich but he uses his money to do something good in the world. He’s been through a lot, but it’s only made him stronger. Of course, he has his weaknesses, but that’s what makes him realistic. Behind the public mask of his wealth and his playboy looks, he’s a good guy, a hidden hero.”

 

“Okay, baby genius, I concede.” Deryn bowed. “I admit that there is greatness in Batman.”

 

“ _Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness_ trusted _upon them,_ ” Alek quoted. “Did you just trust Batman with greatness?”

 

Nora couldn’t help herself, she needed to correct him: “ _Greatness thrust upon them_ , not trusted with.”

 

Peter wasn’t up for a debate about linguistics and literature, his mind was taking different tracks. “Imagine a world where Alfred acts like Malvolio and Batman like Olivia! Joker is, well, he’s obviously Feste, the clown.”

 

“I’m not very familiar with the world of Batman, so can Viola-Cesario be Catwoman? Please?” asked Deryn.

 

“Shouldn’t Robin be Cesario?” May knitted her brows.

 

“No, no, no, that would completely ruin the father-son dynamic!” Peter protested.

 

“I think Robin should join the backstager team, shouldn’t he?” suggested Tony to end the debate. He patted Peter on the shoulder. “Every story needs a little guy who’s there when things go awry, huh?”

 

Pepper joined them, balancing a pie in each hand while holding a tray full of plates and forks in the middle. She managed to put everything safely on top of the piano and ignored Tony’s dramatic wince.

 

“I always knew I should have become a juggler. A slice of pie, anyone?”

 

Of course everybody asked for a slice.

 

“Apple or pumpkin, Alek?”

 

“Pumpkin, please.”

 

“You don’t even like pumpkin.” Volger frowned.

 

“But I’ve never tasted pumpkin pie before. I might like it!” Alek argued. “You should try it, too!”

 

“No, thanks. I’ll stick to apple.”

 

Alek took the opportunity of relative quiet to ask about the makeshift table. “Who plays the piano?”

 

“I do,” said Tony. “I love to entertain Pepper with Christmas classics.”

 

“By entertaining he means playing the ten-hour-long version of _White Christmas_ ,” she grimaced. If it had been just the two of them, she would even have stuck out her tongue at him.

 

“Sometimes I get her to duet with me,” Tony winked.

 

 

 

Peter loved listening to Mr. Stark playing the piano. He considered one of his most beautiful music experiences the New Year’s Eve when Mr. Stark invited him, Uncle Ben, and Aunt May to his home and played _O Mio Babbino Caro_. May had told him the song’s title with tears in her eyes. Pepper had sniffed a little, too. Peter was twelve back then, and not a huge fan of classical music—until the moment when Mr. Stark’s fingers touched the keys and lured the beautiful melody out of the instrument. The music filled the room with warmth like a gentle, soothing lullaby. He loved it when Mr. Stark played the piano, however, tonight he didn’t dare to ask him to play for them. Not in front of so many people.

 

“Would you play something for us, please?” Bless you, Deryn, you nosy little bird, for putting his wishes into actual words.

 

“Since Pep loves to tease me for being a show off, why not?”

  
  


While Tony Stark was playing Charlie Chaplin’s _Smile_ , Volger’s eyes wandered around the room, his senses lulled by the music. His gaze fell on the corner of photographs hanging up. There weren’t more than a half dozen; Stark most likely kept his photos on his mobile or maybe in his office. One of them was particularly interesting: it showed Stark surrounded by Peter, May, and Pepper, and a man unknown to Volger. Peter’s late uncle, he guessed, Ben Parker. In the photo they were standing in a neon-lit hallway, all dressed in black robes except Stark, who was wearing a motorbike jacket. It must have been taken more than a year ago if Ben was still alive.

  
  


When Tony finished the song, he turned around, trying to catch a glimpse of Peter’s face—he loved the way the kid’s features softened no matter what he played. Then his eyes flicked to Volger before following his gaze. He smiled when he saw the picture.

 

“It was taken at the first _Fantastic Beasts_ premiere,” he commented, drawing everyone’s attention. They peered at  the small photo, and Alek went in for a closer look.

 

“Can’t believe we did that costume.” Pepper smiled like she could absolutely believe it and would do it again in a heartbeat. “May and I dressed up as the Weasley twins,” she explained. “She was Fred, I was George. Or was it the other way round, May?”

 

“No, no, you’re right. You were George and I was Fred. I remember we tried to make as many puns as possible on the drive to the theatre.”

 

“I can see that you were Harry Potter, very well-done scar,” Alek nudged Peter, “but who was your uncle?”

 

“Thanks, May drew the scar on my forehead with eye-liner.” Peter grinned at the memory. “Uncle Ben was an ordinary wizard. He said that we couldn’t have everybody be a famous person, we needed everyday wizards as well, because there could be no big names and famous guys without them.”

 

“And who were you?” Deryn asked Tony.

 

“Sirius Black, of course,” he replied, slightly affronted by not getting recognized.

 

Tony wondered whether he should ask the kid if he’d already seen the second _Fantastic Beasts_ movie. If not, they could all go together—it wouldn’t be the same without Ben and maybe they would skip the dressing-up part, but it could be fun.

 

“We should take a picture,” he decided suddenly. He propped his phone up to the plate of the pumpkin pie, arranging it until it stood in the perfect angle for taking a photo. “Everyone, gather around me!”

 

Alek turned so quickly he nearly tripped over his own legs. “ _Sch_ — sugar!”

 

They all gathered around Tony and he tapped his phone, selecting the self-timer option.

 

“Say cheese!”

 

***

 

When they arrived home that night, Volger couldn’t help but ask his godson.

 

“Did you really watch eleven seasons of a TV show in a month?”

 

“What? No, of course not!” Alek chuckled as he hung his coat up on the coat stand. “I’m watching the current season in parallel with the older ones. In the eleventh season I’m one episode behind Peter, but otherwise I’m nearing the end of season six.”

 

“Still a lot of episodes,” grumbled Volger. “And how did you like the pumpkin pie?”

 

“It was a very interesting experience. I can say that it tasted like pumpkin.”

 

“Congratulations, scientist,” he said and couldn’t help a little sarcasm creep into his voice. Alek didn’t seem to be bothered by it. _Typical._ He had already put his foot on the first step of the stairs when his Volger’s sudden question stopped him: “Alek, do you have any books by Stark?”

 

“Yeah, I do. Why?”

 

“Can I borrow one of them?” he tried to ask it like it was the most unusual thing in the world. Like his interest in books for the last twenty years hadn’t been mostly historical and sociological non-fiction.

 

Alek’s expression was dumbfounded and enthusiastic at the same time, which made him look like a three-legged cartoon puppy. “Which one?”

 

“You tell me. Which one should I read?”

 

“Let me see... How about _Iron Heart_? It’s about an AI girl called Friday— Well, obviously she has no real gender but she is designed to appear as a girl. Anyway, Friday’s been in a frozen state for seventy years due to a malfunction, and when she wakes up, she is tragically out-of-date. Her system hasn’t been properly updated in seventy years! It might not sound like it, but the story is actually quite hilarious. And it’s also a bit sad because Friday is really lonely among all those humans who only see her as another piece of trash. There is one scene when she sings _Teenage Dirtbag_ , and that scene just rocks.”

 

Volger blinked as the words sunk in. “Let me get this straight: Stark writes about lonely, singing robots?”

 

“That’s just one book, and it’s a really good one,” Alek said defensively.

 

“Is it your favourite?”

 

“No, that’s _The Lights We Never Saw_ , but that’s a much sadder story.”

 

“What is it about?”

 

He briefly considered if they should take this conversation to the living room or to the kitchen at least, so they could sit down, but Alek had already launched into another plot synopsis.

 

“You see, there is this man who lives alone in a tower in a post-apocalyptic world. He lost his family and he feels guilty for not being able to protect them. He spends all his time tinkering on weapons and updating his security system because there are these mysterious creatures he needs to fight.” Volger tried to picture it. He failed when it came to the creatures. “Also, he wants to keep everyone away from his tower, which is no big deal since like the ninety percent of humanity has been wiped from the face of Earth. Oh, and he’s trying to create a robot version of his daughter. But the whole thing is very vague, the reader can’t be completely sure if those creatures are real or the man just imagines them— Or maybe I shouldn’t spoil it in case you wanted to read it?”

 

Volger contemplated the idea. He couldn’t say he was intrigued by the novel’s plot because he was not: post-apocalyptic worlds and robot girls were out of his range of interest. But Alek was talking about it so enthusiastically and seemed to be utterly fascinated by the book; he was clearly into depressing science fiction stories—and that was enough for Volger to at least give it a try.

 

“Alright,” he said. “I’d like to read _The Lights We Never Saw_.”

 

“Great!” Alek beamed. “I’ll bring it down for you. Just a moment.” And with that he pelted upstairs.

 

Volger knew what it meant for him. Now Alek would expect him to sit down and start reading right on the spot. He felt like he had thrown a ball for a puppy and now he had to keep on playing with it.. On the other hand, this was what he wanted, right? He wished to know more about what captured Alek’s interest—apart from school, theatre, fencing, and basketball.

 

Later, when he was sitting on the couch, Volger looked down at the book he was holding. The deep blue cover read _Die Lichter, die wir nie gesehen haben_ in curvy silver letters and there was a gloomy tower pictured under the title. At the bottom of the cover sat Tony’s pen-name: A. I. Ironman.

 

“You’d better be some science fiction Dostoevsky,” Volger muttered before opening the book and beginning to read.


	6. Violent Delights (Have Violent Ends)

The last Thursday of November surprised the town with a blanket of snow, and the morning found Volger standing in front of the kitchen’s window with a hot cup of coffee in his hand. Eyeing the whiteness outside with interest, he wondered how long the snow would last. He didn’t feel a hankering for snow-shovelling but the sight was certainly pleasant.

 

A yawning Alek appeared in the kitchen. He muttered _guten morgen_ and grabbed the biggest mug from the cupboard.

 

“I need lots of caffeine to survive this day.”

 

His godfather raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

 

“I’m going to be late tonight. MJ promised us a long and tortuous rehearsal.”

 

“I hope she knows today’s Thursday. It’s still a school night.”

 

Alek would have rolled his eyes if he could have kept his eyelids from drooping closed. “Not like I ever forgot my homework due to a rehearsal.”

 

“One late-night rehearsal doesn’t matter, I suppose.” Volger stepped away from the window. “I won’t be at home either, I’m taking Nora on a date tonight.” Alek’s eyes suddenly widened. “What? It’s not that I haven’t taken her on a date before.”

 

“Snow,” his godson breathed in awe. “Winter is here!”

 

Volger turned back to the window. Alek was right. The sight of sheer whiteness outside filled his nose with the smell of winter: it smelt like cold, dead ground and crystal clear, acrid air. Now Volger was shivering and his empty cup felt cool in his hand. Snow covered every rooftop and every garden. It felt like winter—even though it didn’t look anything like the fairytale winters of Austria from his childhood. But he was not a child anymore… Did he just really think that? He sounded like a senile old man to his own ears. He really needed that long-awaited dancing date tonight; this early winter depression didn’t suit him at all.

 

***

 

Deryn didn’t ask Alek until after the adults (Volger and Doctor Barlow) were out of earshot and Peter had joined them in the hall.

 

“Hey, Alek, can I copy your Spanish homework?”

 

“Sorry, Deryn, but I must decline your request to cheat.”

 

“But I need it,” she whined.

 

“You need a strong moral compass.”

 

“Oi! Shut it, bumrag!” Now Deryn turned to Peter. “Pete? Pretty please?” But he shook his head.

 

“Sorry girl, but no. You need to do your own Spanish homework at least once a term.”

 

“Barking spiders! I’ll do it next time. Just this once, please—”

 

No matter how much Deryn whined and pleaded, Peter stood his ground. “Those spiders are barking up at the wrong tree. Or I could say that you’re panicking at the wrong disco.”

 

Deryn groaned in frustration. “Get out, Pete.”

 

“He can’t go out because it’s raining cats and dogs,” Alek chimed in, “and men.”

 

“It’s not even raining,” she pointed out.

 

“But it’s my favourite expression! You’re ruining the big mood.”

 

“Help, my friends have betrayed me!”

 

“What’s wrong?” Lilit came down the stairs as the trio passed by, and the boys couldn’t help but notice how Deryn’s face lit up at seeing her. She might have kept pouting but her features softened and her eyes started to shine with a new light in them.

 

“They won’t let me copy their Spanish homework and what’s more, they are making bad puns. Like, _really_ bad,” she complained to Lilit, who only shrugged, pulling out her Spanish exercise book and offering it to her. Deryn gladly accepted it, and the boys didn’t dare to make another comment about her moral compass. She immediately sat down on the first step of the stairs and took out her own exercise book, opening it on her knees.

 

“Tell me, do good puns exist? For real?” Lilit asked the obviously rhetorical question. “Just for the record, this is the one and only time you get to copy my homework, Deryn, and it’s only because I kind of like you. Copying won’t make you smarter. Good thing that you’re really smart, so if you decide to actually try and learn all those Spanish words, I’ll help you study. If you want.”

 

“Oh.” Deryn’s face turned slightly pink. “I’d like that if— if that’s no trouble for you.”

 

“Yeah, no trouble at all.”

 

Deryn looked down to hide her face and she spotted a scribble on the bottom of the page. It looked like some commentary or note-to-self from Lilit. Privacy be damned, she quickly read it.

 

_“i was made heavy_

_half blade and half silk_

_difficult to forget and not easy_

_for the mind to follow”_

 

Deryn whistled appreciatively. “Blisters! Nice, er, poem. I think it’s a poem. Is it?”

 

“What? Oh, that’s from my favorite poet, Rupi Kaur. I like to copy my favorite lines into my books,” Lilit explained. “As friendly reminders, you know.”

 

“Well, you’re certainly difficult to forget.” Deryn smiled.

 

Lilit was wearing her glasses that day. _How ridiculous,_  Deryn thought a year ago. _How extravagant,_  she thought now. The glasses had little brass wings on both sides, making Lilit look like Hermes, the messenger of the Greek gods—a touch of ridicule with a spoonful of extravagance.

 

“So,” Deryn cleared her throat, “you like P!nk and contemporary poems. Maybe you could tell me more about the latter.”

 

“Gladly.” Lilit crouched next to her, not caring if she was blocking the way.

 

Alek nudged Peter and the boys silently went their ways.

 

“Did Lilit just use her charms to get Deryn studying _and_ secure some cozy study dates for the two of them?” Peter asked after they turned the corner at the far end of the corridor. Alek nodded with a transfixed look on his face. “Gosh, I ship them so much.”

 

“ _W_ _as_?”

 

“Ship. You need to learn this one. It means I’m rooting for them, like really hard, to get together.” The last part of the sentence was almost inaudible due to a jaw-cracking yawn.

 

“Man, you look tired.”

 

“‘m not tired. Never tired. I’m super awake.”

 

“Save it for your aunt. Or Mr. Tony Stark. Or Mr. Rigby when you fall asleep during chemistry.”

 

“Whoa, sassy much? Do you learn it from your godfather or what?” Peter tried to elbow Alek and failed. “Anyway, I eat Chemistry for breakfast.” His friend raised a very questioning eyebrow. “Though  I do prefer cereal. Or pancakes.”

 

“Okay, but seriously, what’s the problem?”

 

“With chemistry?”

 

“With sleeping.”

 

“Nothing.” Peter shrugged but Alek still looked at him with suspicion in his eyes. “Fine,” he sighed, giving into his friend’s interrogating gaze, “I’ve just got a lot on my plate right now. Like, you know, basic stuff but it’s a lot…? School, robotics lab, rehearsals, decathlon practice. MJ is acting like the regionals were tomorrow, not more than a month away. We nailed the preliminary competitions but she still puts a lot of pressure on the team.” He rubbed his eyes. “I guess she has a lot on her plate, too.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Alek shot him an encouraging smile, “you two will cockle decathlon and all this stuff. No, that’s definitely not the word I was looking for. No, no, don’t help me! Crackle? No. Hackle? Is that even a word?”

 

“I think it is. Unsure.”

 

“Wackle? No, that’s waffle and totally not the word I wanted to use. Although I like waffles! Who doesn’t like waffles?”

 

Peter let out a little laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You know, waffles are really just pancakes with abs.”

 

“Finally. I was running out of words,” Alek sighed, relieved to see Peter’s perplexed expression ease a bit. “You’ll tackle decathlon, I’m sure. Wait, don’t you have that robotics catwalk next week?”

 

“Robotics exhibition and yeah, it’s pretty close.”

 

“I know you’ll waffle it, too.”

 

***

 

The rehearsal went mostly fine, and Peter quickly forgot about his tiredness when Stan announced that he wanted him to watch the rehearsal from the control booth.

 

“I reckon you are interested in physics and mechanics,” Stan explained as they climbed the steps, “so Lee and I decided that you might like to take a look at the sound and lighting board.”

 

“Cool!”

 

“Since MJ wants us to go through the entire play without stopping, it’ll be a great opportunity to see the play as a whole, and I’ll have the chance to explain the role of the audio and lighting technician.”

 

“One guy does the sound and the lighting, too?” Peter asked, a little less certain now.

 

“See, it’s just a high school performance, not a proper theatre, so yes, but if MJ comes up with extraordinary requests for the sound and lighting, we’ll need two people on the job. Or tell her it’s unfeasible and that she has to change plans, it depends.”

 

They had to climb the stairs in order to reach the control booth hidden behind a locked door. Very logical, Peter thought while Stan fished for the keys, the best way to protect the expensive tech. If you glanced up at the booth from the auditorium, it looked like a tiny, dark cabin. However, the sight that greeted them behind the door was well worth the climb.

 

“Wow,” breathed Peter.

 

The place was filled with electronic devices, all quiet now but buzzing with secret energy, ready to fill the stage with lights and music. And the stage! Peter could see everything from his spot: MJ, a tiny director sitting in the first row of the auditorium, instructing her gathering of tiny actors on the proscenium.

 

“Nice view, huh?” Stan chuckled behind Peter.

 

“It certainly puts things into a different perspective.”

 

“Now imagine when you push a button or pull back a fader, and the whole scene changes. Just like that, just from the touch of a finger. I tell you, it’s literal magic.”

 

Peter kept turning, like a puppy chasing his own tail, and tried to absorb every new impression at once. Up until this point he wasn’t sure about the role he wanted to pursue as a backstager—now he knew it with all his heart. Being up here for the first time, it felt like Christmas had come early.

 

“Can I touch— something? Anything? Please?” He kind of wanted to push every button at once, but he didn’t want to push his luck with touching something he shouldn’t.

 

“So you like it?”

 

“Very much.”

 

“Then why don’t I show you how to switch on the board, then introduce you to the basic stuff?” Stan motioned for Peter to take a seat. “I already told MJ that we’d be messing with the tech while she shares her wisdom with the actors. It’s always messy, when they first try to go through the play and realize they’ve forgotten all their lines or the cues. On the other hand, we might see some very fine acting because adrenaline always does its work, so well, yeah— No time like the first go-through.”

 

Peter was an quick on the uptake, especially when interested in something, so he quickly became familiar with the basic settings and rules. He couldn’t wait to tell Alek about the booth; even though his friend was far more fascinated by the mechanics of vehicles, Peter knew that he’d appreciate the beauty of creating art with electricity. And if Peter actually got trusted with this task, May would be very proud of him. Maybe Mr. Stark, too. If they ever felt disappointment over Peter’s choice to become a backstager, a challenge like this would surely change their minds.

 

“This job means great responsibility,” Stan said, “but Lee and I think you can do it.”

 

Peter’s chest swelled with pride. He fished out his phone to send a guess-what-happened text to Alek—and Ned.

 

There came a momentary pang of conscience. Suddenly it felt like he was betraying his best friend by thinking of Alek first and Ned only second. (Fourth, actually, if he counted May and Tony, too—and of course he counted.) Because Ned was still his best friend, it didn’t even matter that they hadn’t seen each other for months now. He wished he could share this experience with Ned. On the other hand, he felt guilty for dismissing Alek from his mind so quickly. Alek had become a great friend in a very short span of time, and it wasn’t just because they saw each other regularly. Nor because both of them were considered weirdos; contrary to popular belief, losers didn’t stick together just because they were losers. Or if they did… Well, then Peter thought that he, Ned and Alek would have made an amazing weirdo trio. MJ could join if she acknowledged them as proper friends, and Deryn, too, because under her fearless-Scot-rebel mask Deryn was a darling. And if they invited Deryn, surely Lilit would tag along.

 

And that, Peter realised, was not a trio but a team.

 

***

 

Deryn the “darling” was enjoying the sparks flying between her and Lilit on the stage. Viola-Cesario? Not so much. But that was the biggest fun in this whole acting process: being multiple people with multiple feelings without being mentally unstable.

 

“ _I have said too much unto a heart of stone,_ ” Olivia said these words so passionately that it made Viola’s heart clench. Was she saying that to her? Heart of stone, really? When she was constantly fighting her unrequited love for Orsino who loved someone else? Cesario would have argued over the accusation but Viola kept her tongue. “ _And laid mine honour too unchary out: There's something in me that reproves my fault; but such a headstrong potent fault it is, that it but mocks reproof._ ”

 

MJ’s vision of Olivia was very passionate (both in grief and in love); no wonder the role fitted Lilit so perfectly, Deryn often thought, despite that Lilit had originally auditioned for the role of Viola. Luckily, she accepted the director’s decision and didn’t hold grudges for it—what’s more, she was an amazing partner on stage.

 

“ _With the same 'havior that your passion bears goes on my master's grief,_ ” Viola-Cesario spat back with the same heat.

 

“ _I beseech you come again to-morrow. What shall you ask of me that I'll deny, that honour saved may upon asking give?_ ”

 

Cesario, much to Viola’s long-fostered horror and secret delight, snorted. “ _Nothing but this; your true love for my master._ ”

 

“ _How with mine honour may I give him that which I have given to you?_ ” Olivia pleaded. She looked ready to wrap herself around her love like a koala and never let go. ( _You want to plaster yourself to her side,_ MJ had instructed, _like a koala. A koala?_ Lilit had repeated. _Yeah, a koala_.)

 

“ _I will acquit you_.”

 

“ _W_ _ell, come again to-morrow: fare thee well: a fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell._ ” Shakespeare made this Renaissance noblewoman speak as dramatically as a twenty-first century teenager.

 

Deryn remembered the rehearsal when Lilit asked if she could try to pick her up and carry her out in bridal style. MJ vetoed the idea. Although Deryn knew it was a safety risk, she felt a bit disappointed about not even trying out Lilit’s idea. She’d have probably dropped her but still, it could have been fun.

 

***

 

Missing the bus wasn’t fun. The rehearsal lasted hours, but after Peter told him about the control booth, Alek wanted to at least catch a glimpse of the room, of course. Deryn, who promised to ride home with Alek and was curious about Peter’s new occupation too, joined them. The trio sneaked up to check out the boards, and their little adventure made them lose track of time. When they realised how late it was, they grabbed their backpacks and tried to put on their coats, scarves, and hats while sprinting towards the suspiciously empty bus stop. Alek reached it first.

 

“The bus left two minutes ago,” he informed his panting friends when they caught up with him. Their exhalations created clouds of warm breath in the cold air.

 

“Damn!” Deryn cursed. “How long til the next one?”

 

“Twenty minutes.” He checked the time on his phone. “Minus two. So, eighteen.”

 

“We’re going to freeze,” Deryn visioned with a dark fatalistic expression on her face. She even rubbed her gloved hands together in a very reproachful way but sadly, the boys weren’t receptive to this gesture.

 

“We could cross the park,” Peter suggested. “The bus has a stop at the north-west gate; if we hurry, we can cover the distance in fifteen minutes through the park.”

 

He wasn’t bothered by the fact that the park had already been closed for the night—after all, they could always climb over the gates. It wasn’t breaking the rules but merely bending them when it was for a good cause, right? As in to save Deryn (and themselves) from hypothermia. Bonus: the excitement of taking a shortcut through the dark, snow-covered park would really top Peter’s day, his newfound interest in theatre tech having put him in an adventurous frame of mind.

 

“Great idea,” Deryn agreed, remembering the one time she crossed the park with Lilit. “Let’s do it!”

 

“Sure?” said Alek who really didn’t want to miss another bus.

 

“Totally. In twenty minutes I’ll be waving you goodbye while you board the bus.”

 

“Fine,” he conceded, a little shiver running through his body. “A competition to the gate?”

 

Deryn touched her lips, as if checking that they were still attached to her face, and hastily nodded. “Aye, let’s race!”

 

***

 

Volger had been having a hard time trying to find the perfect place for his dance date with Nora and he still wasn’t sure if the Maria Hill Dance Center fit the description. Not that Rockdwell offered many suitable possibilities: after ruling out the disco, the senior salsa club, and the pole-dancing competition, he settled for this.

 

“In case you picked a ballet class, I can’t wait to see you in tights,” Nora teased him as they entered the building.

 

“Unless those tights are covering my face, you won’t see me wearing any.”

 

“Pepper knows an excellent shop for tights and socks if you’re interested, Ernst.”

 

Volger looked left so quickly that it made his neck crackle loudly. He heard correctly—just a few steps away stood Tony Stark, grinning over his unmistakable goatee. He didn’t look surprised seeing them but from their short acquaintance Volger had already learnt that the man liked to keep a cool façade. Nora didn’t look surprised either—not that Volger expected otherwise since by her own account her policy was to never appear surprised.

 

“Tony Stark,” he greeted the man with a nod, “I didn’t take you for a dancer.”

 

“No, no, I only dropped by to give a hand. I mean, literally. I delivered a hand, albeit a prosthetic one, to someone here. An old friend of Phil’s, you know, my former neighbor, was in need of a hand, and it was no trouble for me. I mean, why order it from New York when I, owner and apparently also delivery boy of the company, can bring it over?”

 

Stark seemed to be particularly chatty this evening and Nora was in a positively high-spirited mood. Volger, not much of a conversationalist, had reason to dread that he’d soon find himself as the target of some amicable teasing.

 

“Tell me if I’m overstepping, but what brings you two here?”

 

Here it comes, Volger mentally prepared himself.

 

“Something less surprising, I’m afraid,” Nora smiled, “as we’re here to do some ballet-dancing.”

 

“It’s not ballet,” Volger protested.

 

“What’s your problem with ballet? It’s a very elegant dance; graceful and bloody powerful at the same time,” Stark argued, but he only got a sceptical look from Volger as a response. “I had this friend, Thor. He was an aspiring ballet dancer, a member of New York City Ballet. We attended the craziest parties together—” He broke off for a moment, his thoughts wandering away. “But that’s not my point. You should have seen him on stage! This tall, muscular guy with his broad shoulders jumped and you’d be scared that the earth would shatter when he landed, but he confounded everyone. He flew in the air like he weighed nothing. Yeah, he could have moved mountains—through his dancing.”

 

Volger made a dry sound in his throat. “I’m afraid we’ll be late from our dancehall class.”

 

Stark whistled. “I’d have never guessed that you go to a Jamaican uptempo dance course.”

 

“It’s a drop-in class and— wait, what do you mean Jamaican?”

 

“Dancehall is a very dynamic and uplifting music and dance style from the ghettos of Jamaica,” Nora explained. “What did you expect when you signed us up for it?”

 

“Something more traditional? A dancehall in a Jane Austen sense?”

 

He must have had a funny expression on his face since Stark’s eyes almost popped out of place as he tried hard to stomp down on his laughter.

 

“I wish I had the time to sign up for this class!”

 

“If you’re lucky, I’ll send you pictures,” Nora joked—or Volger hoped that she had only joked. “But I’ll probably be too busy enjoying the best dance date of my life.”

 

“Perfect.” Stark fished out a hat from his coat pocket and put it on, carefully covering his ears. “See you!”

 

“Bye!”

 

“Goodbye, Stark.”

 

He left with one final wave and Volger gently steered Nora towards the corridor where he suspected the changing rooms could be found. Even though he still felt like an idiot, Nora’s comment about the best dance date made his heart swell with pride. He loved to make her laugh—preferably not by turning himself into a clown, but if it meant him jumping up and down to Reggae music, then he was ready to jump and fail.

 

“I hope I won’t embarrass you on the dance floor.”

 

“Well, if you do,” Nora’s eyes twinkled very dangerously, “I’ll find a suitable punishment for you.”

 

“Yes, mistress.”

 

***

 

A soft _meow_ was their downfall.

 

The whole “crossing the park in order to catch the next bus” plan had gone well—until it hadn’t, and everything went down the drain. Deryn threw snowballs at them, the boys reciprocated the attack, and they stumbled and fell among the trees, laughing their way through the park in a friendly snowball war. They reached the pond and found it frozen, the ice mirroring the sparkles of the stars and the moon. Two luminescent yellow-green dots stopped them in their tracks.

 

A small kitten stood helplessly meowling on the ice.

 

“We should help,” said Peter after the trio spent some time in complete silence, taking in the scene in front of them.

 

“If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking,” Deryn frowned, “don’t.”

 

“Blue ice is the safest.”

 

“It’s too dark to see if it’s the safest shade of blue,” she argued.

 

“That’s such girly thinking!” Alek groaned. “Blue is blue.”

 

“No, it’s reasonable thinking. The water’s only been frozen for a day or so, you bumrags, it can’t be thick enough.”

 

“We should chip it.”

 

“Aye, do you have an axe on you? No? Thought so.”

 

“There are no visible cracks and the cat made it to the middle, so—”

 

“You know what’s thick? Your head.” Deryn huffed a desperate sigh. “What part of don’t go on thin ice don’t you understand, baby genius?”

 

“I could lie down on my stomach and crawl to the cat, so my weight is more divided.” Peter was adamant in his decision. Maybe it was just adrenaline talking but he felt on top of the world—ready to do something bold, something good and adventurous.

 

Alek took Peter’s side. “I could be your safety partner. Safe partner? Assure your safety? I might make mistakes in my English but I’ll be there to catch you.”

 

“As romantic as you make it sound, you are still the biggest idiots in the world!” Deryn exclaimed in vain as the boys started for the pond. “Whatever, I’ll just play some music while you fall to your doom.” She readied her phone, not to play music, but to keep it close in case she needed to call for an ambulance.

 

The two took the first step very carefully. Then took another. And another. Still no cracking. They trod slowly and steadily; Alek led the way, focusing all the stability and discipline of his fencing lessons into his steps. Peter also profited from the balancing skills he’d picked up from cycling. He briefly considered waddling like a penguin but settled on short, calculated steps. Miraculously, they reached the kitten without slipping—but of course, pride always comes before the fall.

 

“Reach under it,” Peter instructed Alek. “Poor thing must be very scared; it needs to feel secure when you lift it up. Like a baby.”

 

“Only child and everything, I don’t have much experience with babies but I’ll try.”

 

Trying to hiss as friendly and cat-like as possible, Alek carefully crouched down, pulling off his gloves to get better use of his hands, then crooked his fingers invitingly at the kitten. It immediately fixed its eyes on his fingers. In one swift movement Alek grabbed the small creature firmly and scooped it up. The kitten protested with outraged meows and sharp claws, but no matter how hard it twisted, it was secure in Alek’s arms. Triumphant, he tried to get up, almost losing his balance. Before he slipped Peter was there to steady him.

 

“Gotcha!”

 

They grinned like idiots; Alek didn’t care if the cat kept on trying to scrape every millimeter of skin off his hands with its needle-sharp claws. “We did it!” He cooed to the kitten. “Hey, little _Kätzchen_ , we got you. It’s okay. We got you.”

 

“Less talking, guys, more moving!” Deryn shouted at them. “Chop-chop!”

 

“Let’s go, _Kätzchen_ , Grandma Deryn is grumpy.”

 

“You go first, I’ll follow,” Peter said. “I’ll catch you if you slip.”

 

“Thanks, man.”

 

The walk back was tortuously but necessarily slow. They were still driven by adrenaline but the cold started to bite them again, and Alek held the kitten closer to his chest, immensely grateful that it had finally stopped wriggling. Even so, stepping off the ice wasn’t as easy as planned. As he got closer, Deryn offered a hand to help him but he only shook his head; a wrong grab at his elbow could start a domino effect and scare the half-calmed animal in his care—or Alek himself. He didn’t want to slip so close to the end, or drop the kitten. Slow and steady, he could do it on his own.

 

He could, but not without complications. As Alek put a foot on the snow-covered ground, he stepped on a hidden root—but he’d already lifted up his other foot from the ice and for a split-second he was swaying. If he fell back… But he didn’t! Alek fell forward, twisting at the last second  in order not to crush the kitten as he plummeted into the snow. He felt a twig or stone slightly graze his forehead but what did he care? It only mattered that he managed to land in the snow, and snow meant safety.

 

“Barking spiders!” Deryn swore when Alek ended up next to her with a soft thud. “Aleksandar Hohenberg, if you’re hurt, I’ll punch you.”

 

Peter saw it all from behind—saw his friend stumble and saw that momentary wobbliness. Instinctively, he reached out and surged forward. Just in time, he realised that he’d do more harm than good by making grabby hands at Alek; he’d probably just yank him back, causing him to spin and slip. Peter stopped as suddenly as if the Snow Queen herself had made him freeze to the spot. There was a faint crack. Alek dropped into the snow. He groaned, the kitten meowed—they were alright. Deryn was saying something, looking pissed, but her words didn’t reach Peter.

 

He heard another crack.

 

Peter looked down, horrified as lines spiderwebbed around his feet.

 

“Uh-oh.”


	7. Beware The Kitten Doomsday

Peter calculated. About a meter and half away from the edge, the ice was giving out under him. Waddling wasn’t an option anymore, too risky, but if he kept moving with small steps, maybe he could reach the others without the ice collapsing under him. Maybe. On the other hand, if it didn’t work out, he’d be too far in for his friends to reach him—unless they lassoed him out of the lake with a scarf. Highly doubtful. He needed to take a leap of faith—like, literally. He had to jump and hope for the best.

 

“Peter?” Deryn’s concerned gaze landed on him.

 

“I’ll try and jump, so you might want to take a step back.”

 

Her eyes grew round. “What? No way! I’ll catch you. You can do it.”

 

Peter let out a long, slow sigh, gathered in a new breath of air, and sprang forward. His feet had barely lifted from the surface when he already realised he wouldn’t land on the ground. The ice creaked and dipped under him, stealing energy from the spring of his jump—there wasn’t enough power left to propel his body onto the shore.

 

In moments like this Peter hated that he was such a quick thinker that he could fully predict his fate. He should have used his big brain better when he made those calculations.

 

The whole world tilted as Peter threw himself forward; the trees of the park swept across his vision. He hit his knee on the ice and it immediately gave in to his weight—in seconds he was waist deep in the bone-achingly cold water of the pond. It stole his breath for a second. His arms landed in the sloppy, soft snow, and he desperately scraped the frozen ground to try not to slip back. That couldn’t happen; he couldn’t slide into the water and let his body be enveloped by this all-encompassing cold. He had experienced cold before, but not this merciless and painful kind. Why did they have such a deep pond in the middle of a park? He kicked helplessly with his legs, trying to keep himself afloat, trying to chase away the numbness slowly seeping into his veins.

 

Fingers curled around his right wrist, while another firm hand gripped the neck of his coat and yanked him forward. It was Deryn. She furiously pulled Peter further forward. Out, out, out. She was soon joined by Alek, who managed to gather himself from his fall and rushed to help Peter with his free arm; he used the other to clutch the frantic kitten to his chest. Together they dragged him out of the water.

 

Relief almost overwhelmed him as Peter finally found himself on solid ground again. For minutes he couldn’t do anything but lay there; his body shivering uncontrollably. His teeth chattered so hard he feared they would fall out of his mouth. He tried to give the thumbs-up to his friends, who hovered over him like a pair of worried owls, but couldn’t muster up the strength. The adrenaline had left his body in a rush; he felt like a marionette whose strings were cut loose.

 

“I’m f-f-f-fine,” he finally managed to sputter. “That— that was s-s-s-scary.”

 

This immediately snapped Deryn into action.

 

“Alek, call the Wildcount,” she barked then turned back to Peter. “I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”

 

“If that makes me wa-wa-warmer, feel fr-fr-fr-free to have a g-g-g-go, Rambo.”

 

“Thank Alexander Fleming for penicillin,” she grunted while helping him to sit up. “Or else you’d be in deep shit now.”

 

“I think we’re in deep sh-sh-sh-shit anyway.” Peter shuddered.

 

“Come on, you need to stand up. Come on, Peter, you can do it. Easy. You need to stand up and move. That’s it. Come on, come on. Shake your legs.”

 

“They’re sh-sh-shaking on t-t-their own.”

 

“Try to move your toes.” Deryn started to sweep the snow off Peter. “What’s up with the Wildcount, Alek?”

 

“He won’t pick up.” Alek’s voice trembled and he looked paler than usual. “He doesn’t pick up his phone. He’s probably still on his date with Doctor Barlow.”

 

“Then there is no use calling her either,” she nodded gravely. “Peter, move your legs. Alek, you too. Wobble like a penguin.”

 

They followed her orders.

 

“I c-c-c-could always just, you know, w-w-w-walk home,” Peter suggested.

 

“No!” his friends yelled in union.

 

“You’ll get pneumonia and die on your way home. Even Alexander Fleming can’t save you from your own stupidity.” Deryn frowned. “What about your aunt?”

 

Peter shook his head sadly. “She’s at work and took the car for a check-up yesterday. She can’t pick me up by, you know, by bicycle.”

 

“What about Mr. Stark?” Alek lowered his phone from his ear with a defeated look on his face, like he was giving up a castle to the enemy. Like Gandalf hadn’t arrived at Helm’s Deep at the dawn of the third day.

 

“He’s probably busy—”

 

“Well, he’s our last hope. Brilliant idea, Alek! Where’s your phone, Pete?”

 

***

 

Tony couldn’t imagine what Peter had got himself into this time. A phone call from the kid after ten? Highly suspicious. The kid rarely phoned him; if he did but Tony was unreachable, he left a voicemail. But usually the school called, or May. Peter preferred to text—and true to himself, he did that endlessly. Tony had a very creative mind and he could come up with the wildest reasons for why the kid would call him at such a late hour. Of course, reality scarcely ever fitted fantasy when it concerned the Parkers.

 

“What’s up, kid?”

 

“ _Hey, Mr. Stark!_ ” Peter sounded a bit shaky but his voice wasn’t faint or inaudible. Tony took it as a good sign. Of course, he couldn’t see how Alek was holding the mobile to Peter’s face because his hands were trembling too much, or how Deryn kept rubbing circles on his back to warm him. “ _I know it’s super late but could you pick us up? Please?_ ”

 

“Where are you?”

 

“ _At the north-west gate of the park,”_ a sharp exhale, _“the park in front of the school._ ”

 

Tony frowned. The distance between the Parker household and Red Land High School was so short Peter usually cycled or walked, rarely bothering to wait for the bus. “What’s wrong?”

 

“ _I’m fine_.”

 

_Fine_ could mean a million things, Tony knew from experience. For example, sometimes _fine_ could mean ‘not fine at all’, so he set off straight away. He was so occupied with getting there as soon as possible, he didn’t even realise how worried he felt until he saw the three friends at the bus stop in front of the park. Relief flooded him as he saw that they were fine, indeed.

 

And they had a cat.

 

Were Peter’s pants... wet?

 

Did Alek have a fresh-looking scratch on his forehead?

 

Tony internally groaned. So much about being fine. The closer he got, the more they looked like a trainwreck, but still, he tried to put on a cheerful face. Despite not being a father himself, he knew from observation that kids started to cry louder when they sensed their parents’ worry.

 

“What’s this? Snowball fight gone wrong?”

 

“We missed the bus,” Peter mumbled.

 

“We missed like three bus,” Alek added, glancing at the time glinting on the screen of his phone. “I mean, buses.”

 

“Can you take Peter home?” Deryn asked, straight-forward as ever. Tony Stark had to admit, he liked the girl more and more every time they met. “He’s had a bit of an accident, as you can see.”

 

“Now you make it sound like I peed myself,” Peter groaned. “Wait, what about you two?”

 

“We’ll be fine. Another bus should arrive in four minutes or so.”

 

“Shouldn’t a doctor see you?” Tony asked from Alek, gesturing to the scratch on his forehead. Alek rubbed at it with his coat-sleeve as if he could erase it so easily. Tony secretly hoped that the boy hadn’t smeared tons of bacteria on it with the wiping.

 

“I’m fine. Just a scratch. I didn’t hit my head or anything like that.”

 

“I’ll look after him.”

 

“That doesn’t sound half as reassuring as you might hope.” Tony grimaced. He liked Deryn but she was, nonetheless, just a sixteen-year-old girl.

 

“Until we get home and he can be looked after by his godfather.”

 

“Much better. But you text me when you get home.”

 

“Yessir, yes!” Deryn suppressed the urge to mock-salute. “I’ll contact you on Messenger.”

 

“You’d better, Lieutenant Sharp.”

 

“What about the cat?” Peter asked. A full-body shiver ran through him, and it made Tony feel a pang of guilt. He should have brought a blanket. An extra sweater. Something! He should have thought of it when he heard how shaky Peter had sounded on the phone.

 

“I’ll take care of him tonight,” Alek promised. “Or her. Tomorrow we can take it to the vet together, then we should put some posters up, maybe, to check if somebody is missing him.”

 

“We’ll find out everything _tomorrow_ , Sherlock,” Deryn said. “Look! Around the corner, that’s our bus.”

 

“And that’s our cue to leave,” Tony nodded and put an arm around Peter’s shoulder, steering him towards the car. “Come on, Peter Pan, let’s take you home. You can tell me on the way what the heck happened to you.”

 

***

 

Volger finished buttoning his shirt. He felt grateful for the long-sleeve weather, otherwise it would have been difficult to explain the ropemarks on his wrists. Looking around, he shot an appreciative glance at Nora’s naked back as she bent down to pick up her blouse, then his gaze shifted to his phone. He pressed a button; the screen flickered to life and he frowned.

 

“Alek called me five times,” Volger said with a slowly rising panic in his chest. “That’s a lot from him.”

 

“Before you freak out, take a look out the window. His lights are on, he’s at home.” Nora guided him to the window and showed him their house, so Volger could see that the lights were switched on in many rooms, not only in Alek’s. “He was probably worried about you. He might be still worried since you haven’t answered his calls.”

 

“I told him I was going to be with you,” he grunted. Nora’s explanation was logical and it made him feel stupid for freaking out like some hundred-year-old granny. “He’s a teenager, he should be glad that he had an evening without me breathing down his neck.”

 

“You’re all the family he has.” She playfully bit into his shoulder. “Go home and show him that I haven’t eaten you alive.”

 

Although anxiety wasn’t fundamental to Alek’s nature, or so Volger thought, he was fully prepared to find a distressed boy in the house when he got home. He wasn’t prepared to find his godson in a wrestling championship with a howling, hissing, thoroughly wet creature. When Alek finally managed to wrap it into a towel, the creature turned out to be a tiny, red cat. The boy held up the kitten-burrito like he was kneeling on Pride Rock, not in the middle of the kitchen.

 

“I have so many questions,” Volger groaned. “Why in the kitchen?”

 

“Because he tried to escape but I managed to catch him here. Yes, there are little paw marks leading from the bathroom to the kitchen now but I’ll mop them up,” Alek jabbered. “But is that really your first question?”

 

“I have to start somewhere.”

 

Volger watched with growing impatience as Alek searched the kitchen, then presented the still wrapped-up kitten with canned tuna on a plate and water in a bowl. He seemed to hesitate on where to put these, and completely ignored his godfather. Volger set his jaw and stared at the boy’s back while he went back to rummaging through the cupboards. He had imagined how their life was going to be in the US but Alek kept surprising him. They were small surprises, like starring in a high school play or bringing home a stray cat, but nevertheless they were surprises, since Alek didn’t share his thoughts with Volger.

 

“Or maybe I should ask what the hell this cat is doing here.”

 

“Long story short: we rescued him from a— a complicated situation. Deryn, Peter, and me.” Alek put the two bowls in the corner, but he was obviously not satisfied with this arrangement.

 

“And when did you want to notify me about your plan of turning my house into an animal shelter?”

 

Alek spun around so quickly he startled Volger. “I tried to notify you those five times when I called but you didn’t bother to pick up.”

 

“And I thought I was the adult here,” Volger sighed, trying to mask his guilt with sarcasm. As infuriating as it was, Nora was right about Alek. She seemed to know more about _his_ godson than he did. “Look, I didn’t hear my phone. I told you I was going to spend the evening with Nora. Not that I need to account to you, but Cinderella is home and it’s not even midnight. Now, can we talk about what do you want to do with the cat?”

 

“Don’t bother with the cat, I’ll deal with him. Leave him to me.”

 

Now that he was finally facing him, Volger noticed a fresh-looking scratch on Alek’s forehead. He wondered if it had come from the cat or whether something else had happened to him.

 

“As much as I agree that everyone should take responsibility for their own pet, I wish to know in advance if you plan to upgrade the household with a cat. I’d like to remind you that I live in this house, too.”

 

“Oh, really?” Alek fumed with anger, and Volger wanted to know where it come from. Was the boy really throwing a temper tantrum because he didn’t answer his calls? “It’s kind of easy to forget about your mighty presence nowadays.”

 

“Excuse me?” Half of the question was tampered with sarcasm but the other half was honest bafflement. It seemed to strap the last straw for Alek, triggering an outburst.

 

“You are never here for me! We live in the same house, you have custody over me, you take me to school, you work at that school, but I’m still fucking alone in— in this!” He gestured around so widely like he meant the whole world in _this_.

 

“You’re deliberately trying to sound ungrateful now, right?”

 

Sarcasm worked on many people—it didn’t work on angry teenagers who wanted to stop feeling stupid, though.

 

“Ungrateful? Ungrateful?!” Alek repeated in disbelief. “I didn’t ask for this either! You can tell me how you gave up everything for me, but let me tell you that I know how you feel. And you know why? Because I gave up everything, too! And it terrified me. Can you imagine how it feels when the biggest adventure of your life makes you terrified?” He looked close to tears. “I was afraid of leaving Austria as much as I was afraid of moving to another continent. I feared that nobody would understand my gibberish English. Entering an American public school? I might as well have walked into the dragon’s den.”

 

Volger just stood there, dumbfounded. He remembered, very clearly, how Alek had tried to encourage _him_ on their first day at the school. The boy had appeared so easy, almost flippant about the whole business. Apparently, he wasn’t so self-confident deep down. One thing for sure, his godson never ceased to surprise him.

 

“But you know what?” Alek wasn’t done yet. “I faced my fears, one by one. I was okay. I _am_ okay. I had only one fear left—the fear that one day I’ll need you but you won’t be there—and tonight I had to face it. I needed you and you weren’t there. You know what happened? I managed. On. My. Own.”

 

“No need to be so dramatic, you weren’t completely on your own,” Volger spoke through clenched teeth. He wished Alek had said something before, instead of hurtling rocks at him now. Metaphorical rocks, yes, but he still wasn’t prepared for the impact.

 

“I’m glad that you got my point.” Alek’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “But you’re right. I had Deryn, my best friend, no matter how much you dislike her, and I had Peter. Oh, and we had Tony Stark because he actually picked up his phone and hurried to help when Peter needed him.”

 

“I’m sorry I can’t live up to your expectations,” Volger spat. “If Stark is such a hero, why isn’t he the one dealing with a cat and a hysterical teenager in his kitchen?”

 

“I can’t believe you’re still fretting about the cat!” Alek shrieked. “It’s not about the cat! It’s about me and you, and the fact that we’re strangers to each other in a strange country!” He picked up the towel-wrapped kitten from the chair, and the poor animal immediately joined the argument with angry howling. “I don’t want to talk to you ever again.”

 

“This childish behaviour won’t take you anywhere.”

 

“I can’t wait to be old enough to move to the other side of the US!”

 

“Fine!” This was getting out of hand, but Volger couldn’t stop himself from adding, “You can take your cat, too!”

 

“I will!” Alek shouted back. He was trembling and sweating from agitation.

 

“Can’t wait to see!”

 

“Just watch me!” That said, Alek hugged the protesting kitten to his chest, and stormed out of the kitchen. Volger could hear him stomping on the stairs, then the loud bang of a slammed door.

 

Great. Maybe he had let his godson follow his own head for too long.

 

***

 

While the boys might have felt like all the energy had been sucked out of them, Deryn couldn’t help but feel bouncy with adrenaline. In the park she had needed to stay cool-headed and steady on her feet to keep her friends out of trouble—and out of the lake. Now she wanted to jump and down until she could get rid of this rush of emotions. She quickly sent a message to Tony Stark ( _At home. Thanks for your help! Lt. Sharp_ ), one to Peter ( _Hope you are ok. See ya tomorrow!_ ), and one to Alek ( _How’s the cat? You ok?_ ). She didn’t get a single answer.

 

Deryn waited: she fidgeted with the corner of the _Game of Thrones_ poster, the one that kept curling up; bounced on her bed; toyed with the model on the shelf. Finally, because she wanted to share her excitement with somebody, she texted Lilit. It felt logical to do so. She didn’t have many friends, and Lilit was definitely the craziest among them. Sure, after the night’s experience, the boys appeared crazy enough—but they were smack-your-head crazy whereas Lilit was surprisingly-hot-and-funny crazy.

 

Deryn Sharp: yo, won’t believe what happened to me

Lilit Avakian: shoot

Deryn Sharp: saved a cat tonight

Deryn Sharp: actually, Peter and Alek did the cat-saving

Deryn Sharp: anyway, it was teamwork

Lilit Avakian: sounds like an adventure

Lilit Avakian: well done, girl ;)

Deryn Sharp: thanks^^

Lilit Avakian: wanna give me the deets in person? we could hang out tomorrow, before rehearsal.

Deryn Sharp: sounds like a plan

Lilit Avakian: meet you in the great hall. i bring the coffee, you bring the story

 

By this point Deryn had an ear-to-ear grin on her face. Thank goodness for the existence of cats.

 

***

 

“What the fork, Peter?”

 

The kid had recounted the events of the night during the car ride, and Tony couldn’t believe his ears. Despite his wild imagination, his best guess was that Peter had gotten wet because of too much snow. He could imagine Deryn playfully pushing the kid and Peter losing his balance, tripping over his own legs. But Peter in the pond? He felt nauseous just thinking of it; his heart pounded in his chest. He grabbed the door-handle with a shaking hand; with the other he reached for the kid’s backpack.

 

“If I didn’t know you were a crappy liar, I’d think you were telling me a joke,” he croaked as they walked up to the Parkers’ house. Peter hung his head. If Tony had any doubts left, this simple gesture exterminated them all. “Why, Peter?”

 

The kid shrugged—out of cold or out of nonchalance, Tony couldn’t tell at first. The little boy who had run in front of a car to save a kitten was Peter “Precious” Parker acting on an impulse. Tony could protect him. But this was Peter “Teenager” Parker, growing up and thus a bit of a stranger, and Tony couldn’t tell what the kid had on his mind, why he acted the way he did. Nor could he protect him anymore.

 

“It’s what you would have done.”

 

“Yeah, and that’s why you shouldn’t have done it.”

 

Peter reached for his bag, and Tony held it up for him so the kid could fish out his keys from the front pocket. Thank luck he didn’t keep them in his coat, or he could well have said goodbye to them during his little bath.

 

“You always have to do better,” Tony added firmly.

 

“Then I’m sorry I can’t live up to your expectations!” the kid snapped so unexpectedly Tony almost dropped the backpack. They were standing in the dark anteroom now; the only light they had came from the streetlamp and its reflection on the snow.

 

“Listen, kid, and please, try to understand why this night wasn’t your most shining hour.”

 

“Oh, I can understand.” Peter flicked on the light, but the faint yellow of the single bulb couldn’t bring warmth into the room.

 

“Then why did you do it?” Tony was losing his patience now. He arrived to the point where he vaguely sensed he’d regret this conversation later. But that’s the thing with regret. It always came _later_.

 

“I told you! I couldn’t let that poor cat—”

 

“It’s not about the cat,” Tony interrupted him. He rested the bag next to the wall and folded his arms in front of his chest. “It’s never been about the cat. Admit it, kid, it was about you wanting to play hero.”

 

“I bet you did crazier things when you were at my age!” Peter’s voice sounded like a glass of lukewarm soda losing its last bubbles.

 

“Excuse me?” Tony looked at Peter and the kid held his gaze, his blue lips pressed into a thin line. “Idiocy isn’t bravery! Do you understand? Because I’m not sure you do. What you have done was extremely irresponsible. Your friends could have gotten hurt! You could have gotten hurt! But you always know best, right? You just had to run around like a spider on the wall. Lucky thing I came to save your sorry ass from frostbite.”

 

They reached a standstill. Peter had enraged Tony—on the other hand, Tony had angered him, too. They should have stopped there.

 

“You weren’t the one to save my ass from frostbite!” When did they start shouting? They had never yelled at each other, not so bitterly and seriously. “It was Deryn! And Alek! They were there for me! They helped me. They _saved_ me. You just came to pick up the trash.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Yeah, so you can leave this trash-bag in peace, thank you very much!” From the waist down Peter felt like he had been wrapped in ice, but at the same time sweat drops gathered on his forehead from the heat of the argument. Ironically, Tony was the one standing between him and the cold flowing in from outside. “I don’t need you to fix my life, I’m not one of your projects. My life is okay as it is.”

 

“Then why risk it so stupidly, huh?”

 

“Stop calling me an idiot!”

 

“First stop acting like an idiot!”

 

“If you actually cared, you would leave me alone, instead of trying to force me into an image that I clearly don’t fit.” Peter rubbed his nose, glistening snot wetting his fingers. “I’m fine on my own. I don’t need your help.”

 

“Well then, I won’t force it upon you.”

 

Tony didn’t slam the door. He just calmly closed it, leaving Peter in the sad yellow glow of the single light-bulb.


	8. The Kids Are (More Or Less) Alright

The next morning was horrible. Alek and Volger barely looked each other and they didn’t speak at all, apart from a cool _guten morgen_ uttered under their breath. Alek felt ashamed for raising his voice the day before. He had yelled at his godfather, his guardian, and said some ugly things he didn’t mean. After he’d spent a few sleepless hours fuming with anger that had slowly turned into a state of despair, he’d tiptoed down to the kitchen for the forgotten tuna and fed the now dry kitten. Before he’d finally fallen into a dreamless sleep, he’d peered into himself and felt painfully empty. Waking up wasn’t any better. Alek didn’t sleep enough, his new-found cat friend still seemed to be pissed off with him, not to mention Volger—the way he held his newspaper said volumes. Alek wouldn’t have dared to apologise, not even if he had been prepared for it.

 

The car ride to the school passed in complete silence. Alek didn’t ask why did Doctor Barlow not come with them, and they didn’t pick up Deryn either. It was just the two of them in ice-cold, tense silence. Alek wondered how long would it be like this. Would it pass with time or would they be stuck forever in the winter of hurt and mistrust? Last night he had vowed not to speak to his godfather ever again, oh-so-easily, but this morning felt like the worst hangover after a night of endless bad decisions.

 

His phone pinged, signalling an incoming message.

 

Or more like, an avalanche of messages.

 

Deryn Sharp: What in frozen hell, _Dummkopf_?!

Deryn Sharp: R u grounded or what?

Deryn Sharp: Dr. Barlow turned up and announced this morning it’d be just the sweet two of us.

Deryn Sharp: What the fork, Alek

Deryn Sharp: How much trouble are you in?

 

Good old Deryn, Alek smiled to himself sadly, then typed a quick answer.

 

Alek Hohenberg: A lot

Alek Hohenberg: But I’m ok

Alek Hohenberg: The _Graf_ is not talking to me, tho

Deryn Sharp: Sounds like pretty deep soup, bumrag

Alek Hohenberg: Thanks, Deryn

Deryn Sharp: See ya in school

Alek Hohenberg: Yeah, see you

 

He leaned back in the seat, his head hitting the headrest with a thud. At least Deryn seemed to be her usual self. Alek felt a bit guilty for not enquiring after Peter’s well-being but he quickly brought up two good excuses: 1. Tony Stark had taken him home, so there was no way Peter wasn’t fine, and 2. they’d meet in about half an hour when he could check for himself.

 

Nope. He had to admit those were pitiful excuses. He was so busy feeling sorry for himself he’d simply forgotten about Peter—which made him probably the worst friend in the world. This, adding up to his little scene with his godfather, also meant he was the worst person in the world, too. Wow. He had set up a nice record in one night. What more could the day hold for him? Probably an endless tunnel of boring classes he’d go through in a zombie-like state.

 

Who was he kidding? At this rate, he would surely end up Worst Person of the Universe by four in the afternoon.

 

***

 

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Peter knew the colours of the rainbow by heart—but if he didn’t remember them, someone had secured a sizeable rainbow flag on his locker. How very _thoughtful_.

 

“What’s up, Pete?” Kamala appeared next to him. “Nice scarf.”

 

“I think it’s a flag.” He gave a little shrug.

 

“Do you need it?”

 

“Um, someone just left it here, so no, I don’t need it.”

 

“Cool. We could use it in the play, don’t you think?” Kamala yanked the flag off the locker with two strong pulls. “Make a nice costume out of it.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

“It will look brilliant on— on somebody. MJ’s pick.”

 

“Please, tie it around Fitzroy’s face.” Deryn walked up to them. “He never stops running his mouth and keeps driving me nuts.” She poked Peter’s shoulder. “How are ya?”

 

“Fitzroy doesn’t annoy me,” he said, avoiding the true meaning behind the her question. He didn’t want to talk about the previous night—or anything else, as a matter of fact. Peter wanted only one thing: to get through this day as fast as possible. Not that tomorrow promised to be any better, but he had time to worry about that later.

 

“Guys.”

 

Great. MJ joined them with Hannah hot on her heels. Only Alek was missing from the picture of “Friends Peter Failed Or Will Surely Fail Sooner Or Later”. And Ned! Peter felt he betrayed his best friend whenever he forgot about him—which happened more often nowadays.

 

“Kamala, do you have a moment?”

 

“Yeah, sure. Oh, hi, Hannah!”

 

“Hi, Kam! Hey, guys!”

 

MJ fished out her phone and quickly presented them a picture.

 

“This is a dress from Alexander McQueen’s Fall 1998 Ready-to-Wear collection. It was introduced at his fashion show named Joan. Like Joan of Arc, the famous martyr and powerful female figure. See this shade of red? See how the skirt is a bunch of stripes? I need Deryn to wear the closest imitation of this dress possible when she enters the stage for the very first time.”

 

The costume department shared a glance. Hannah risked the question: “Isn’t it a bit, er, too sexy for a young maiden?”

 

“What?” Deryn tried to snatch the phone from MJ—she didn’t let her but allowed her to take a glance at the picture. Peter leaned closer too, and tried to imagine the truly extravagant dress on Deryn.

 

“Viola’s just survived a shipwreck,” MJ explained. “She was reborn! Like a phoenix! Phoenixes are red. She’s basically fire conquering water.”

 

“Okay,” nodded Kamala, drawing out the oh. “When do you want it?”

 

“As soon as possible, in case it needs alterations or if it turns out to be a complete fail.” MJ shoved her phone back into her pocket. “Nice flag, Kam. I could totally picture it on Fitzroy. Or don’t you think it would fit Sir Andrew?” The bell rang. She took out her phone again to check the time—Peter knew her motto was to always doubt. “Sorry, fam. Gotta run, equations are waiting for me. See you in about eight hours!”

 

After the almighty director left them, Hannah turned to Kamala with a scrunched up face. “Couldn’t she have been inspired by _Hunger Games_ instead?!”

 

“What, you want to set Deryn on fire?”

 

“Hey!” Deryn protested. “I’m right here, you know.”

 

“Since you’re a phoenix—” Deryn scowled and Peter couldn’t help but smile. Hannah quickly back-pedalled: “Just kidding! Never mind me.”

 

***

 

Deryn didn’t know how she had let herself be talked into this. Only Lilit could persuade her to spend her free time practicing the Viennese waltz. After she’d recounted last night’s events, they drifted away from the topic and somehow ended up discussing the dance rehearsals MJ tortured them with. Or that was Deryn’s opinion at least. Lilit suggested that she should take a different approach.

 

“Maybe try a different partner or a different song for a change?”

 

“I have no problem with Alek as my partner, but I’d die to dance to something other than Bryan Adams. Why can’t we dance to P!nk?” Deryn groaned.

 

“Maybe because she hasn’t got Viennese waltz songs, as far as I know?” Lilit was looking for something in her phone. “But how about something classic? Obviously less cool than P!nk but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

 

“Like what, the _Blue Danube Waltz_?”

 

“If you prefer that, yes, but I was thinking of something like _Hallelujah_ or Elvis Presley.”

 

Lilit had set up a hard task when she decided to please Deryn that afternoon. The Scot was still pouting. “Elvis isn’t cool enough for me.”

 

“Okay, but how about an Elvis cover? _Can’t Help Falling In Love With You_ , twenty one pilots or Ingrid Michaelson cover, your choice.”

 

“Who is Ingrid Michaelson?”

 

Lilit showed her. Deryn more or less expected a well-built Swedish swimmer, not a hot redhead with glasses. Not that she had a thing for red hair—but she certainly had a thing for glasses. Especially for Lilit’s glasses, but those were just details.

 

“Oh, okay. Let’s do it.”

 

Did Deryn think through that _it_ would mean letting Lilit take her hand and lead her to dance while a pretty redhead woman sang “ _take my hand, and take my whole life, too_ ”...? Surely not. She just dived into it headfirst, and only thought about the hows and whys later.

 

“ _Cómo se dice_ pneumonia _en español_?”

 

The question struck Deryn unexpectedly.

 

“No, no, don’t look at your legs. Keep your eyes on me.” Lilit kept her firmly, so Deryn tried to just relax and go with the music. Oh, and think about Spanish words, too. “So? Pneumonia?”

 

“ _La pulmonía._ ”

 

“ _Bien_. Midwife?”

 

“ _Comadrona_?”

 

“ _Sí_ . How about the, ummm, ear, nose and throat specialist?” Deryn concentrated so hard she almost bit her tongue. “Easy, _señorita_ , go easy. Remember? Eyes on me.”

 

“Okay. I think it’s _otorrinolaringólogo._ ”

 

“See?” Lilit asked in a half-whisper, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re good at this.”

 

_Aye, when I’m too absorbed in making eye contact with my pretty partner and don’t pay attention to my long legs,_ Deryn thought. Out loud she only said, “How come you are so good at leading when at practice you’re always following?”

 

“You know me.” Lilit winked up at her. Winked. Up. Deryn never believed being tall had too many advantages until Lilit came and showed her. “I’m a born leader.”

 

“Very true.”

 

“The problem is,” Lilit started slowly, saying the words like she was stringing pearls, “that you’re a born leader, too. Now, what can two leaders do together?”

 

Were they so close before or were they unconsciously shifting closer? Or had the room become smaller? Deryn felt light-headed and ready to explore their exact proximity.

 

“Deryn Sharp, I can’t believe my eyes.”

 

Or maybe not.

 

“Are you really practicing the waltz?”

 

On most of the days Deryn liked Doctor Barlow but she had the most awful sense of timing. She wasn’t exactly sure why but she felt like her teacher’s sudden appearance had made her miss something important. The moment was gone. Doctor Barlow was still there.

 

“I don’t think she needs more practice, Ms.” Lilit let go of Deryn’s hand and took a step back. “Deryn was hiding her talent from us.”

 

“Then it’s time to step out of the shadows. The rehearsal is about to start, girls.”

 

Right. No problem. Deryn just needed to snap herself into having the butterflies for Orsino.

Maybe today she wouldn’t step on Alek’s feet.

 

***

 

Alek spent the whole day sulking and trying to avoid people, most of all Deryn, Peter, and his godfather. Since he shared all of his classes with Deryn, he decided to stay in the boys’ bathroom for the breaks. Not the safest hiding place; he knew all too well that Deryn wouldn’t hesitate to barge in had she really wanted to find him.

 

But Deryn didn’t want to bother him with _toldyouso_ s and _whythesadface_ s, as Alek realised when he sat down in the farthest and darkest corner of the library. His friend had sensed with great empathy that he needed some place for himself and she gave it to him—so Alek could swim in self-loath and self-pity at full stretch for about ten minutes. Then, Peter appeared as he _coincidentally_ chose the exact same spot for licking his wounds. It must be true, after all, that misery loves company.

 

“Oh. Hey.”

 

“Hi.”

 

Peter hesitated to take a seat. “So, umm, how is the cat?”

 

Despite his grim thoughts, Alek’s face lit up at the question. “Fine. I call him Bovril.”

 

“Good job, Pettson.” Peter motioned for a chair with a shy smile. “May I…?”

 

“ _Sicher_. Sit down.”

 

Alek said _sit_ with such a strong zee that Peter gave him a puzzled look, but he must’ve understood the nodding that accompanied the words because he took a seat. “Thanks.”

 

“I’m sorry about last night.”

 

“What?”

 

“I shouldn’t have gone on the ice with you. I dangered you unnecessarily.”

 

“Alek, you weren’t the one endangering me. On the contrary. I was the one who—” Peter froze mid-sentence when Alek broke out in a loud sob. He immediately stuffed his fist into his mouth to muffle the sound but he couldn’t stop crying.

 

“Sorry,” he whimpered. Alek didn’t want to cry—not in front of his godfather, not in front of Deryn. He’d have preferred not to cry at all but since he couldn’t hold it in any longer, at least he was letting it out in front of another boy. Peter was his friend. He would understand, right? “I just— I just miss my parents.”

 

Peter understood.

 

“Don’t be daft. I know everybody says this and probably has no idea, but believe me, I know how you feel.” He put a comforting hand on Alek’s shoulder. It felt nice, even though Alek wasn’t really into touching. “I used to feel guilty for being alive. Sometimes I still do.”

 

Alek bit his fist, hard, as if trying to fill the emptiness inside him with pain. He wiped the tears away but new ones came flowing.

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over _this_ ,” he croaked.

 

“Thank God. I think it hits top of the list for things you should never get over.” Peter inched closer to him with his chair.

 

“I feel bad for not being there when they died. Guilty.” Alek’s shoulder shook with another sob, and he angrily rubbed his tear-filledl eyes.

 

“I was there when my Uncle Ben died,”  Peter said softly. “He was— he was still alive when I got there. I could say goodbye to him but I couldn’t save him. I was ashamed for being so— so helpless. So powerless. And his death felt so final.”

 

“After I got the news about my parents’... accident, I was stuck waiting… for months,” Alek spoke slowly, as if carefully searching for the right words. Deep, shuddering breaths kept breaking his speech but his tears had finally stopped. “I waited for them to come into the room. Step through the door. Crazy, huh? During the school term I didn’t see them for months. I went home for the bigger breaks but not for the weekends. I was sleeping in the school dormitory. My parents never even walked through any of the doors at school. Never. Yet the first thing I expected them to do when I was told they no longer existed? I waited for them appear. Just like the way they disappeared.”

 

“Yeah, that part is awful,” Peter nodded to Alek’s little soliloquy. “I was six when my parents died.” He folded his hands in his lap. “When they left for the airport, I threw a temper tantrum because I wanted to go with them. I was shrieking and crying; I wouldn’t stop until Mom promised to tell me two bedtime stories every night after they returned. But they never returned. Their plane crashed and I was told they would never come back. When does _never_ end?, I kept asking myself. Finally, I realised they wouldn’t come back because they’d had an accident. But for a long time I thought they didn’t return on purpose, because I’d been a bad boy and they’d had enough of me.”

 

“I’m sorry about your parents and your uncle.”

 

“I’m sorry about your parents, too. Are you still waiting…?”

 

“I got over the me expecting them back part.” Alek gladly accepted the paper tissue Peter offered. “It took me some time but I don’t expect them to show on the doorstep anymore. I had to do it on my own. The Wildcount offered to take me to a therapist, back in Austria, but I told him I wasn’t ready to talk about it. Then we moved here, and the thought crossed my mind but— I still have trouble with putting it into words. I know it means I have trouble with facing the reality of— of the situation. I have googled it. But just think about it for a second. Talking in English, in a foreign language about my parents’... death, it’d make it sound unreal as well. It shouldn’t sound unreal when it feels so real.”

 

“Does it sound surreal now?”

 

Alek contemplated the question for a few seconds before answering it: “It does sound to me like I’m telling a story, yes.”

 

“Every story has a bit of truth in it,” Peter pointed out quietly. “After all, they’re all about us.”

 

Alek smiled at him. “Yeah. Right. We’re all stories in the end.”

 

“Dude, did you just quote _Doctor Who_? I’m so proud of you, man.” By this time their chairs were right next to each other. Peter put an arm around Alek’s shoulders. “Is this okay? I’m a hugger but you don’t seem to be the hugging type, but I wanted to make you feel better without being awkward. Is this awkward? Am I awkward?”

 

Alek smeared the last teardrop in the corner of his eye. It felt warm on his fingers like the smile on his lips. “No, it’s okay.”

 

***

 

Despite the relief that flooded him after talking with Peter, Alek couldn’t get himself to apologise that night. It was quite late when the rehearsal ended, so Doctor Barlow took him and Deryn home by car. Volger was sitting in the living room but Alek continued to sulk. Even Bovril hissed at him with dissatisfaction.

 

Saturday? He spent it with Peter and Deryn. Peter drew some posters advertising Bovril alongside Alek’s phone number (“ _Shouldn’t we post a cute video about Bovril?_ ” “ _We’re not making cute cat videos, Alek._ ”) and the words: If you recognize your cat, give us a call. They put it up everywhere around the park and the closest streets—at school, in the library, and in every nearby shop, even at Raj’s comic shop.

 

On Sunday, Alek finished his homework, recited all his lines to Bovril, and took a long walk in the chilly December evening. When he got home, the house was silent, although he guessed from the lights that Volger was upstairs. Alek ravaged the fridge and sat down at the table with the result (a ham-and-cheese sandwich) and his favourite Ironman novel ( _The Lights We Never Saw_ , borrowed from Peter) in his hand. Enter Volger.

 

“Good evening. I just wanted to return your book.”

 

Volger’s voice was severe but not malignant. He held up the said object, and Alek reached out to take it. He didn’t risk a smile, but he did risk the question, “Did you like it?”

 

“It was… interesting.” Alek’s face dropped. In his opinion, _interesting_ was a lukewarm _no_. “I won’t say it fits my profile,” that _no_ was growing bigger with every word, “but hopefully I’m not too old for new things. I think I’d like to read more from the works of Stark.”

 

“Really?” Alek perked up.

 

“I enjoyed his writing style. It’s much more engaging than his conversational style.” It was good to see that sarcasm had never left Volger’s side. “I especially liked the way he captured loss in general.”

 

Alek’s throat went dry. “Yeah, that’s really good.” Volger put the book on the table, gingerly pushing it closer to him. Alek immediately stood up, the legs of his chair screeching on the tiles. “I’ll bring down another novel for you.”

 

“Don’t hurry,” his godfather held up a hand, halting him mid-step. He cleared his throat, as if readying himself for a big speech. He was trying to appear as cool as a cucumber—in Alek’s opinion, his godfather only managed to look like an anxious cucumber. However, it didn’t make his next words sound any less serious. “I’m sorry.”

 

Alek nodded. “I’m sorry, too.”

 

“I’m not very good with feelings. Talking about them, analyzing them... Not exactly my field. But if you need to talk, please, come to me and we’ll talk. I can’t promise that I’ll ever learn to cook but I can promise I’ll always listen.”

 

“I think we can work with that.” Alek chuckled. This small, relieved sound seemed to snap something inside of him, because the next words stumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “You got to spend more time with my parents. I envy you for that. I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

 

“I— I don’t know what to say.”

 

“You don’t have to say anything. Maybe talk about them? Sometimes. Or I don’t know. Maybe it’d be too strange to hear about Papa’s shenanigans from his high school years.”

 

It seemed to spark an almost forgotten memory in Volger’s mind as a small smile appeared on his lips. “Did you know once we did a play in high school, too?”

 

“No, really?”

 

“Yes. It was Shakespeare, funnily enough.”

 

“Directors are pretty boring, don’t you think? I mean, Shakespeare’s great but there are other great playwrights, too.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“I didn’t know I was having an English literature class right now.”

 

“I’ll overlook your cheekiness this once.” Volger grimaced. Suddenly he seemed to realise he still held his hand up in the halting gesture as he quickly lowered it. Cool as a cucumber, right?

 

“So, you were telling me about you and Papa playing Rosalind and Celia in high school.”

 

“Very funny, young man. Just watch yourself.” His godfather looked around, as if wondering how they ended up in the kitchen again. They really had a taste for awkward placing. “It was _Coriolanus_ , actually. Your father played the titular role, while I was Menenius Agrippa.”

 

“Cool.” Alek silently vowed he’d read _Coriolanus_. First thing tomorrow. “Did they like it? The audience, I mean.”

 

“Obviously. It might not be one of Shakespeare’s most popular plays, but our parents were proud. And most importantly, we had fun doing it.”

 

“Even though the play was boring?”

 

“I never said it was boring. It’s all about war and blood, honour, and duty. You should read it.”

 

How did Volger know he hadn’t read it yet? Mystery. “Maybe I will. But first I’ll make you read _A World Without Heroes_. That’s Peter’s favourite.”

 

“Sounds… exciting.” Volger gathered every ounce of sarcasm he was capable of and poured it into his words, and that was a lot. But deep inside, both of them knew he would read every Stark novel Alek presented him with.

 

“Whoa, I almost believed you. I bet you must have been a real star in _Coriolanus_.”

 

Volger lifted an eyebrow. Even his moustache looked challenging. “Keep this up, and I’ll confiscate your books.”

 

“You’ll try.”

 

“Why not start by taking this one back?” He made a move for the book lying on the table, but Alek tricked him. The sneaky boy didn’t go for the book, his strategy was better.

 

Alek went for a hug.

 

After years of practice, Prince Alek, the greatest hero of all times (or Captain Alek, the fiercest pirate…?) defeated the devious Wildcount with his surprisingly brilliant tactics. After all, nobody could confiscate books when they were hugging their adoptive son, right?

 

***

 

“ _I’m sorry dude, that I can’t come to the show._ ”

 

Peter was multitasking at his best. He was sitting in the tech booth, tinkering with the boards and his robotics exhibition project at the same time, while talking to Ned on the phone. His friend’s honest regret about having to miss _Twelfth Night_ warmed his heart, no matter how the PBJ sandwich muffled Ned’s words. Lunch break couldn’t stand in the way of their deepest emotions.

 

“It’s okay, Ned. Not that I won’t miss you but I understand. Unless the Doctor picks you up with the TARDIS—well, Oregon won’t come any closer.”

 

“ _I know, Peter, I know._ ”

 

Peter put down his screwdriver. It wasn’t sonic but on good days he could work miracles with it. Apparently, today wasn’t a good day—and it was only Monday. If he didn’t finish his project on time, the rest of the week wouldn’t turn out any better.

 

“Maybe I could livestream it to you,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

 

“ _That would be cool!_ ”

 

“Pity you’re not here; it’d be more fun with you.” Peter adjusted a fader on the board, and warm, yellow light flooded the stage. “I wish I could design more arms for myself. I could sit here like a big spider in the middle of its web, keeping everything under control.”

 

“ _Big mood._ ”

 

“Yeah, well, I can’t even make this dumb little robot work, so who am I to design prosthetic arms?”

 

“ _Chin up, Peter. You’ll figure it out. You got four more days, right?_ ”

 

“Yeah. Thanks, dude.”

 

“ _Always. Gotta go now. Lunch break is over._ ”

 

“Talk to you soon.”

 

“ _Can’t wait to see your project finished! Bye, Peter!_ ”

 

“Bye.”

 

Ned hung up, and as his voice disappeared from the room, Peter was left alone for about ten seconds. Then Timothy James entered the booth, accompanied by Stan and Lee. Timothy held a very promising usb in his hand.

 

“Hey, Peter.”

 

“Hi, guys.” He needed every ounce of self-control not to leap out of his seat from excitement. “Is that what I’m thinking it is…?”

 

“Yes. I’ve finally finished the music for the play. MJ inflicted a difficult task upon me. Bryan Adams and the roaring twenties? Thank God for Postmodern Jukebox. I think I managed to create a very nice ambient for the scenes.” Timothy took the seat in front of the soundboard. “What’s this?”

 

“Sorry, I was just experimenting.” Peter jumped to his side. “You know, ways I could connect the light and the sound through the board...” He let his last words fade away. “I’ll disconnect them.”

 

“Thanks. I’m sure you’ve come up with great ideas how to make the task easier for you, but—” Timothy threw the usb up in the air and caught it. “Yeah, about that. I consulted with Stan and Lee,” he nodded towards the stage managers, “and we agreed that I should control the panels for the sound. You stick to the lights. Not that you can’t do it; on the contrary, I’m sure you would do a great job. But I’d prefer to keep the music with me. Easier for you, too, right?”

 

Peter glanced at the stage managers. Lee just nodded, his arms folded over his chest, but Stan shot a reassuring smile towards him.

 

“Don’t worry, Pete. Tech week is still going to be hell,” Stan said. It didn’t really help. “It might have been a bit irresponsible to put all of this on you at once.”

 

Peter felt that he’d had enough talks about responsibility for the rest of the year.

 

“It was fine,” he stammered.

 

“Yeah, well, if you won’t get fed up with us this year, you’ll see double hell next year.”

 

For the first time since the rehearsals had begun, Peter truly regretted jumping headfirst into this mess without Ned.

 

***

 

Peter “Defeatist” Parker completed his project on time and with flying colours by designing a little roll-and-pick-up robot. It did exactly what it said on the tin: the robot rolled around the room on its little wheels and picked up the small things Peter dropped for it. To the spectators, Peter explained that in the not so far future he planned to upgrade the robot so it would be capable of doing more meticulous tasks, like recognizing and sorting trash.

 

“Until, of course, we learn how to reduce our trash,” he concluded.

 

Everybody seemed to be satisfied with his work. MJ elbowed him in a very appreciative way, while Deryn clapped him on the shoulder ( _Blisters, you’re really a baby genius!”_ ). Alek shook his hand—which could have looked more serious if he hadn’t worn a huge grin on his face, radiating “Awesome!” at a hundred kilowatts. Even the backstage ninjas made an appearance. Aunt May was so proud that it felt like she was trying to squeeze all the air out of him.

 

“You’ve done so well,” she said. “Your speech was so— so scientific! So clever! I’m very proud of you.”

 

“Thank you, but I really need to refine the programming—”

 

“Keep on refining, and we’ll end up with R2D2 in the house. Thai or Chinese?”

 

“Thai, please. And thank you for coming.”

 

“Upside of having a night shift, I have a free afternoon,” May replied cheerfully. “Pity that Tony couldn’t come.”

 

“What?” Peter stammered, extremely grateful that he had his back to his aunt as he was packing into his bag.

 

“I called him to check if he could come with Pepper, and he promised he’d look into his schedule. Obviously, he was too busy. Maybe he’s in New York again? I’m sure he’ll call you up about the exhibition later.”

 

Peter finished loading his backpack and zipped it up. His stomach turned into a cold, heavy stone. He hadn’t told May about the nasty fight he’d had with Mr. Stark, nor mentioned that they hadn’t spoken for a week now. He had also forgotten about the fact that his aunt loved two things very much: to be proud of her nephew, and to share her pride with others. She always invited Mr. Stark and Pepper to school events, and they came whenever they had time for it. In fact, Mr. Stark had made the habit of _always_ having time for it.

 

Maybe he’d needed to fly to New York, said a small voice in Peter’s head—the part of him that was always ready to make up excuses for everyone. The logical part of his brain frowned at Peter for lying to himself. Mr. Stark didn’t come because he didn’t wanted to. Obviously, he was still mad at Peter. Understandable. Peter was still angry with Mr. Stark—but he missed him greatly and was angry with himself, too. He had meant a few things he’d said that night but not all of them. A lot of stupid sentences came out of his mouth, yes, and Peter acknowledged his part in their fight—or he hoped so. However, he didn’t know what to make of Mr. Stark’s words. Did he truly mean them _all_? Peter feared that the answer to this question was an absolute yes.

 

“Everything all right? You went awfully quiet.”

 

“‘m fine. Just thinking.”

 

“Sometimes I’m almost worried about that big brain of yours. Don’t let your head explode.”

 

“As if.” Peter rolled his eyes. The only chance his brain had of exploding was because of an  overload with stupidity. “I’ll build you a robot nephew first. To keep you company with R2D2.”

 

“Very funny.” May planted a quick kiss on the crown of his head. She had to stand on tiptoes—in a year or less, Peter would be taller than her. “Love you, baby. Let’s get some food.”

 

***

 

“What’re you working on?”

 

Peter Parker was fine. He never felt troubled for reasons he couldn’t properly name, and never sulked in the library either. When Alek found him there the next day, Peter was just...

 

“Just drawing.”

 

Peter was sketching a house on fire: the one he’d dreamt about last night. In his dream, he was walking in a moonlit forest, following a path which eventually led him to a clearing. There stood the house, and fire glowed in its windows. The flames quickly reached the roof, giving a strange, orange shade to the night. Peter just stood there, silently watching. He was disturbed by it, not scared, and the scene lingered in the back of his mind after he woke up.

 

“I like to draw, and sometimes it helps me to— to rearrange my thoughts.”

 

“Like the comics shop?” Alek took a seat beside his friend.

 

“Something like that.”

 

“I wish I could draw,” he sighed, folding his arms on the table and resting his chin on them.

 

“You can do other things.” Peter returned to working on the roof. “And I bet you could draw if you tried.”

 

“Maybe. Who knows, I might be Pablo Picasso.”

 

Peter put down his pencil and leant back in his chair. “I should be like you. Confident. Sure.”

 

“Oh man, I’m unsure like twenty-four hours a day. You know who is confident? Deryn. She’s always so _cool_.”

 

“Yeah, she is.” Peter nodded so forcefully his hood slipped back. He quickly fixed it, pulling it back over his forehead. “Once Ned wore a hat in order to feel more confident.”

 

“I don’t think hats do that.”

 

“Yeah, now that I think back, it didn’t work out for Ned either.”

 

They sat in contemplative silence for a while. Peter stared at the paper but didn’t resume drawing, and Alek was drumming his fingers on the table.

 

“I got it!” Alek started to frantically search in his pockets, then in his backpack. “We need some music to find our stop… no, our grip, again.”

 

Peter perked up, too. “Wait, I like this expression. Maybe I’ll use it! Did you mean finding our stop as a bus stop or stop like when you go, go, go, then stop?”

 

“Let’s not dwell on linguistics. Here, take it.” Alek had finally managed to fish out his earbuds from his bag, and passed the left one to Peter. “What should we listen to?”

 

“Do you know the song that goes like this: say it, say it, say it etcetera, then do you something, do you something, do you something for the fantasy—?” Seeing his friend’s helpless blinking, Peter decided to try a different one. “Okay, maybe not that. How about _Human_? You know, the one where Brandon Flowers asks that are we human or are we dancer—?”

 

“Man, I thought it was are we human or are we the answer.” Alek facepalmed himself. “I’m awful at this. I used to think there was a song called _Axes and Oaks_ until Deryn enlightened me that it was actually _Ex’s and Oh’s._ ”

 

It looked bad. They wanted to feel uplifted but they had only managed to make themselves feel stupid so far.

 

“How about _It’s My Life_?”

 

“I know that one!” Alek’s face lit up. “It’s Bryan Adams, isn’t it?”

 

“I think it’s actually Bruce Springsteen.” Peter had barely said it when already knew he got it wrong. He should have known this one. Mr. Stark loved this song, and it was a great song, very inspirational and everything.

 

“No way! It’s Phil Collins!”

 

“You mean Sting.”

 

“Billy Joel, maybe?”

 

“Fuck! We’re idiots. It’s Bon Jovi.”

 

“Shit, true. We screwed up. Again.” Alek’s phone slipped from his hand. He managed to catch it, but the movement pulled the earbuds from their ears. Both of them instinctively bent forward, headbutting each other. “And again. Sorry.”

 

“Sorry.” Peter scratched his neck. “Let’s not brood over it, dude! At least we managed to name a few really good musicians. And you’re an okay guy, too, just like Bruce Springsteen. I hope he didn’t do drugs. No, I think he’s okay.”

 

“Thanks. You aren’t bad either.”

 

Peter smiled and pulled back his hood from his head. It started to feel warmer in the room.

 

“Hey, guys! What are you up to?” How Deryn found them, was a mystery.

 

“We’re boosting each other’s morales.”

 

Before they could go into the details, Peter’s phone started ringing—May was calling him. He jumped up like he had been stung and made a beeline for the exit. Every self-preserving student felt a healthy fear for disturbing the silence of the library.

  


“He looks unhappy,” Alek said after his friend had disappeared from earshot.

 

“What should we do about it?” Deryn pulled out a chair next to him and promptly plopped down on it.

 

“Snowball fight?”

 

“Nae. After the Bovril Incident he spoke like Darth Vader for three days.”

 

“That’s it! We need a _Star Wars_ marathon!” Deryn gave him a disapproving glare. “What?”

 

“Contrary to your belief, _Star Wars_ doesn’t solve everything. We need to come up with something that actually helps him.”

 

“But Peter loves the classic _Star Wars_ trilogy,” Alek countered.

 

“Surprised? Orphan boy raised by his uncle and aunt in a totally boring place—where he passes his time by tinkering with robots—goes on the adventure of a lifetime in space. Turns out the boy has a superpower, sort of, which is also a weird religion but let’s not go into that— Anyway, his life turns upside down and he learns how to kick ass. He also gets a father figure, an awesome sister, and some dorky friends. What’s more, his biological father appears and after a few serious arguments they have a heart-warming reunion.”

 

“Okay, I get it.” Yet Alek couldn’t be derailed from the topic. “Who are we in this story then? Are you Princess Leia or what?”

 

“Hell, no. She is awesome but I’m no princess. You are Chewbacca, I’m Han Solo.”

 

“Good to know.” Alek grimaced but he didn’t mind his role. He liked Chewbacca. Heck, he liked every character from the classic trilogy—and he could totally picture himself alongside with Deryn on the Millenium Falcon. “Lilit would make a cool Leia.”

 

“I know.”

 

Alek smirked. Deryn had just totally _hansolod_ Lilit without realising it.

 

***

 

“ _Then westward-ho! Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship!_ ” Deryn announced, making a move like she wanted to exit the stage before suddenly twirled back. “ _You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?_ ”

 

Tech week would be upon them in a blink of an eye, the whole crew knew it. Still, MJ kept her cool façade. She even told them she wanted to see new interpretations before they got too bored with their roles. New interpretations? Deryn could do that. She was ready to twirl unexpectedly, touch suddenly, and glare like she had never done before.

 

“ _Stay: I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me._ ” Lilit reached out but didn’t touch her. It looked like she was trying to hold Deryn back but also pointing at her simultaneously.

 

“ _That you do think you are not what you are._ ” The last few rehearsals Deryn gave the answer after a bit of hesitation, pretending to be thinking what to say. Now she spat it back as if Cesario-Viola had been ready with the reply.

 

“ _If I think so, I think the same of you._ ”

 

“ _Then think you right: I am not what I am._ ” Deryn smirked. This wasn’t anything new, she had smirked at this moment for the last twenty rehearsals, because honestly, she didn’t expect less from Viola than smirking while making this particular remark.

 

“ _I would you were as I would have you be!_ ” Was it just Deryn’s imagination or did Lilit really make it sound like she actually meant ‘I would have you anyway’? One thing for sure, that was a lot of passion in one sentence.

 

“ _Would it be better, madam, than I am?_ ”

 

Lilit took a step closer. She almost looked like a terrifying noblewoman—one that always got what she wanted.

 

_“O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful in the contempt and anger of his lip! A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.”_ The words poured off her lips like milk and honey. “ _Cesario, by the roses of the spring, by maidhood, honour, truth and every thing, I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, for that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause, but rather reason thus with reason fetter, love sought is good, but given unsought better.”_

 

Deryn was ready to swear that no woman had or ever would be mistress of her heart but she didn’t have the chance. Lilit threw her arms around her, kissing her hard on the lips.

 

The room froze. The kiss was perfectly staged. It wasn’t the first kiss Lilit had ever given in her life but it certainly looked like Olivia’s first kiss. A bit too rough, a bit too straightforward. Their noses bumped, their lips clumsily slid over each other.

 

It was Deryn’s first kiss. It felt a bit too dry and rough but surprisingly sweet at the same time. She liked the taste and texture of Lilit’s lips but she couldn’t make herself like the kiss. It would have been the perfect first kiss, Deryn knew—if only it hadn’t been staged because the almighty director wanted to see new acting directions. This thought left a foul taste in Deryn’s mouth and a bitter, closed-up expression on her face after they parted.

 

The boys could see it all from the VIP box, as Alek enjoyed spending the time between his scenes up in the tech booth with Peter. Surely this was the most colourful moment in the entire history of their high school play so far _._

 

“Look at that confidence, huh?” Peter commented, and  Alek could only nod, eyes comically wide and staring dumbly at Lilit.


	9. Pinkie Swear

Deryn was avoiding Lilit, which made tech week three times harder. Since the kiss, she hadn’t wanted to talk to her or see her at all aside from their shared scenes on stage. Surprisingly, it didn’t make their performances awkward or unconvincing, but it certainly made life backstage uncomfortable. Lilit had attempted to catch and confront Deryn a few times before putting on a whatever-who-cares face. Sometimes Alek wanted to shake his friend because Deryn looked miserable, yet Project “Shake Up Deryn” kept being postponed every day. They had enough on their plates and besides, affairs of the heart weren’t exactly Alek’s field of expertise.

 

During tech week, the actors had to try on costumes and learn to move in them. Lilit’s black dress turned out to be a bit too long, and she almost fell down the stairs. The costume department fixed it. Otherwise, the clothes weren’t anything special—except, of course, Deryn’s red phoenix dress. It made its own entrance, as it wasn’t finished for the first dress rehearsal. When it finally arrived, the phoenix dress was the only new costume that day, so it got extra attention from the whole crew. Kamala had worked on it for two nights straight, and when the dress was tried on for the very first time, she enjoyed all the praise she had earned with her hard work. It was made from a red burkini with stripes of a crimson skirt sewn onto it. It showed little of the body but promised a lot of the personality. Kamala’s biggest pride was incorporating swimwear into the costume to emphasise that Viola had survived a shipwreck.

 

Deryn had a hard time finding her way into her costume but after she overcame her difficulties, she liked what she saw in the mirror. She could see a young girl, yes, but a fierce, a powerful girl. A warrior. A free spirit! Maybe a bit flat on the frontside but she still looked _cool_. Just the way Lilit liked.

 

Deryn’s face darkened. She didn’t want to think about Lilit right now. She had already spent two nights listening to _Just Like A Pill_ while trying and pitifully failing at not thinking about her. Not as useful as sewing the coolest costume in the world, surely, but that was what she had done.

 

Returning to reality, Deryn quickly put on a smile. “Thank you so much, girls. Best dress I’ve ever worn. Thank you, Kamala.”

  
  


“I think we did a good job.” Kamala smiled after Deryn left them to put on her clip on mic.

 

Hannah nodded. “Yeah we did. You worked wonders with that dress. Lilit looks ready to drag Deryn into the nearest closet.”

 

“Hannah!”

 

“What? Everybody knows they’re together. Or they were.” Hannah shrugged. “I guess they’ve broken up. Or at least there’s trouble in paradise. Pity.”

 

“Maybe it’s just tech week. They can reconcile after the premiere.”

 

“Let’s hope for the best. High five?”

 

***

 

Red Land High School couldn’t afford as many wireless microphones as the play needed. When the kids learnt that Drama Club only had seven clip-on mics, drama spilled off the stage and soon there were heated arguments about who had a part important enough to wear one—it grew so heated Deryn almost had a fistfight  with the pompous Fitzroy. In the end MJ put down her feet and decided the best method would be swapping. As it turned out, the always so silent and shy Sam had a natural talent in dealing with delicate, mechanical things like the microphones. (“ _You should join robotics lab_ ,” Peter said to Sam, and she gifted him with a rare, blushing smile.) She was tasked with planning the swaps so the main characters would never stay without a mic; then she had to execute the plan during the performance. To make the situation even more complicated, Peter had to clip the mics onto the actors before the play started, then collect them after it had ended. Even though he wasn’t in charge of the sound anymore, Timothy had asked him to do it.

 

Since Alek made an appearance in the second scene and had a leading role, he was meant to wear a mic from the start. He was waiting for Peter to get the tech ready for him when he noticed the little shiver running through his friend’s body.

 

“Are you cold?”

 

“A bit. Forgot my sweater upstairs.”

 

Alek nodded. He knew from experience that up in the booth it was quite warm; meanwhile, backstage he walked around with a sweater over his costume to ward off the chill. “Here. Put on mine.” He offered up his royal blue hoodie, which still held his body heat.

 

“Thanks.” Peter’s huge grin disappeared behind the sweater for a second. “Have you seen Deryn’s costume? The red one?”

 

“ _Ja_. What about it?”

 

“She looks awesome. Like the Deryn we know but a different person at the same time?”

 

“I haven’t noticed.” Alek glanced at Peter and wondered if he should give him his hoodie forever. It looked really good on his friend.

 

Peter huffed. “Come on, we never see her in a skirt. Especially not in a dress. That should have caught your eyes at least.”

 

“Don’t bite my head off. I’ll check this awesome dress out.”

 

“Awesome friend in an awesome dress.” Peter winked after checking the microphone on Alek for the last time. “There. All ready.”

 

Alek fixed his hair. “I don’t know what to do with my accent. I know Mr. Stark suggested I could use it for character-building, but I can’t figure out how. Orsino is not Austrian.”

 

“I don’t think he meant it like that.” Peter understood what Mr. Stark had meant because he knew him—or he thought so. The question was, how could he make Alek understand, too? “Look, how do you feel when Flash calls you German?”

 

“Annoyed. To me it’s so painfully obvious that I speak like a person from _Wien_ , not from Berlin or Düsseldorf.”

 

“Good, keep that in mind. Now, how do you feel when you think of Austria?”

 

“Sad? Lonely? I kind of miss it but I also never want to go back, and I feel happier here? I don’t know, it’s just too much, a bubble of everything.”

 

“Keep that, too. How does Orsino feel about Olivia?”

 

“He obviously loves her—or thinks so. She’s beautiful, intelligent, modest, perfect to be a nobleman’s wife. On the other hand, I think he doesn’t understand her at all. I guess she’s annoying him a bit because if she said yes, everyone would be happy, but now everyone’s just miserable— But he respects her grief. Then she marries his servant out of the blue? Now, that’s annoying. Wait, infuriating. Infuriating is a stronger word than annoying, right?” He was so caught up in his train of thought, Alek didn’t even wait for an answer, but went on immediately. “He feels betrayed. Angry. Sad. Lonely. He liked Viola so much, and that was annoying, too, because how much, exactly? He doesn’t know she’s a girl. So the logical question is: is it okay to like a boy, a _servant_ so much?”

 

“Whoa, dude, that sounds like some heavy existential crisis.” Peter nodded. “Do you think you can channel your Flash-fuelled annoyance into Orsino’s annoyance? Also, your  bubble of feelings about Austria could be Orsino’s bubble in some way, too.”

 

“I didn’t know you were taking lessons directly from Stanislavski.”

 

The almighty director gave Alek the jumpscare of the year and she didn’t even need to say an instruction to do so. She just needed to walk up to them, dead silent like a true ninja, and hit a cue.

 

“Jesus fudge-making Christ in a cathouse!”

 

“Do you realise that cathouse means brothel?” Michelle asked, always eager to share knowledge. “Go on, Peter, sorry for interrupting.”

 

Peter looked beet red and one step away from sputtering. “You’re fine, Alek.”

 

“I think he means that you should use your accent as another form of expression,” she translated. “Don’t think of it as an obstacle.”

 

Alek contemplated their words. “I think I get it. Cool. _Danke._ Both of you.”

 

“Great.” MJ grabbed Peter’s elbow. “If you two are finished, I need to steal Peter for a moment. Got a quick idea to share with the ninjas.”

 

***

 

The backstage ninjas were speechless after MJ had shared her idea with them. The set was fine, or they had thought so, until their favourite and only director appeared. Even Stan and Lee stood in clueless silence.

 

MJ wanted to decorate the set with famous paintings. Not Mona Lisa printed on an A/4 paper, of course, but something creative. Mona Lisa printed on eggshells…? MJ didn’t elaborate.

 

“Theoretically, we could steal the _Starry Night_ from New York,” Erik suggested.

 

“Unless you’re Annabelle Fritton, no, we couldn’t,” said Hannah.

 

“We could try to paint imitations of famous paintings?” Sam risked the question.

 

“Peter can draw but the rest of us…?” Kamala spread her arms.

 

“Deryn can draw, too!” Peter added quickly.

 

“Yeah, the actors could help,” Hannah nodded.

 

But Stan vetoed the idea. “I don’t think we have time for more than one painting.”

 

“Maybe two,” Lee chimed in. “Time is a real bitch when it’s hell week.”

 

Hannah gave up. “Okay, I give up. Anyone else? Joe? Peter?”

 

“I have no idea,” Peter shot her a helpless glance. He wished he knew exactly what MJ had in mind. He wished he could borrow her brain, because with his own he could only think of— “Hold on, I do have one idea.” Everyone stared at him. “What if we did the imitations of famous paintings, yes, but with photos? Like, Sam could pose as Mona Lisa and we’d take a picture her. We could ask Alek and the other actors to stand in for the pictures, too. It would look like Prince Orsino was having fun with his friends.” Like when they went to the cinema dressed up as Harry Potter characters, he thought but didn’t mention it. “Might be a silly idea but it would take less time. And we could print the photos at Stars Copy & Printing Center, they’re the best at doing last-minute jobs and are higher quality than the old school xerox printers.”

 

The backstagers stood in contemplative silence for a few seconds. Joe looked like he didn’t approve of the idea but didn’t have a better one either. On the other hand, Sam sent a small, barely visible smile to Peter. Kamala crossed her arms in front of her chest, and Stan scratched his chin.

 

“I like it.” Of course Hannah was the first to broke the silence. She turned to the stage managers. “So?”

 

Lee shrugged. “Let’s roll, guys.”

 

“Yeah, let’s do this,” nodded Stan. “Good thinking, Peter.”

 

***

 

Alek recited his lines to Bovril in the bathroom because it had the best acoustics in the house and because Bovril never grew tired of “ _If music be the food of love, play on_ ” as long as he kept stroking him. After the vet couldn’t find a chip in the cat and nobody answered their posters, Alek promoted himself to the status of cat owner—a _proper_ owner who had his cat chipped and everything. His godfather didn’t look the least surprised when Alek announced this turn of the events. Despite occasional complaints about “that creature”, the Wildcount had accepted the cat into the family.

 

“Alek? Are you spending the night in there?” And now every member of the family was gathered on either side of the bathroom door. “We only have one bathroom, if you remember.”

 

Alek wished he could use a funny Shakespearean line as a comeback but sadly, Orsino was too much of the brooding type. He picked up the mewling Bovril and opened the door.

 

“The place is all yours.”

 

He even bowed a little before relocating himself in the living room. Fifteen minutes later his godfather, now dressed in flannel pyjamas and with a book in his hand, found him lying on the couch, petting Bovril’s head. If they had a fireplace, the scene could have made it to the cover of a home design magazine.

 

“Almost finished _A World Without Heroes_.” The Wildcount held up the book.

 

“Cool! You have some very good scenes ahead. I almost want to be there when you read the biggest plot twists.” Who knew, maybe his godfather’s moustache would twitch at the most surprising moments.

 

“Feel free to stay.”

 

“What? Are you going to read it now?” Alek sat up so suddenly he startled the peacefully dozing Bovril, who jumped off his lap with an offended meow. “D’you want another when you’re finished?”

 

“Why not? Both of the novels you lent me have have been surprisingly enjoyable so far.”

 

“Enjoyable? More like the coolest books on Earth! I remember the Christmas I got _The Lights We Never Saw:_  I didn’t leave my room for like three days, I was so absorbed in reading.” He frowned. A question had been bothering him for some time now; maybe he should finally face it. “So, I was thinking,” he started carefully, “about Christmas. This Christmas.” It would have been nice to get any response from his godfather, apart from a curious glance. “I know we didn’t celebrate last Christmas—I kind of hated it back then—but maybe we could celebrate it this year? Nothing big, just a pine twig with a little decoration?”

 

“That would be nice.”

 

“And we could try to cook something. We might be very talented in roasting carp. Or how difficult can it be to stuff a goose?”

 

“Very difficult, I fear.”

 

“We should definitely give _kletzenbrot_ a try.”

 

“I think we should look around to see what can we get from the shops and plan the menu after that.” Alek had to admit, the Wildcount could give some very practical advice.

 

“Okay, sounds logical.”

 

“Good.”

 

“We don’t have to exchange presents, though.” He mentally checked his list of Christmas associated things: pine trees and decorations, food and the smell of cinnamon, presents and the element of surprise.

 

“If you think so… But I should get better at choosing gifts for you, so I really need to practice. If you change your mind about it, let me know.”

 

“Maybe one really small gift would be nice.”

 

“One small gift, understood.” The Wildcount glanced at the book in his lap. “If you don’t mind me saying, I’m fine with borrowing these from you. Don’t need my own copies.”

 

“I can take a hint,” Alek grimaced as he stretched out on the couch again. “So, are you going to finish that novel or what?”

 

“Yes. Want me to read it out loud? Add some live audio commentary?”

 

“The shock on your face will do just fine.”

 

“Don’t get your hopes up; my facial muscles are constantly trained by Nora.”

 

To set the record straight: that evening, Alek witnessed his uncle’s jaw drop in surprise when he learnt that Leomark had been imagining Stiv by his side all along. Alek couldn’t wait to tell Peter in detail about the reverberating success of A. I. Ironman in the Volger-Hohenberg household.

***

 

Peter felt stuck in a loop of emotions. These were the groundhog days of insecurity, humiliation, anger, and sadness.

 

“Nice sweater, Penis! Did your mommy knit it for you?” Every single day Flash _happened_ , bringing along his never-changing repertoire of insults. “Sorry, forgot! You don’t have a mommy.”

 

It felt like sixth grade all over again. Like the day when Uncle Ben prepared him a salami-and-cheese sandwich for school; he had taken no more than three big bites before Flash appeared and grabbed his sandwich from his hands, holding it up above his head.

 

“Look! Penis Parker is eating a mouse-meat sandwich!”

 

The kids in the canteen laughed; somebody started to chant “mouse-meat! mouse-meat!”, and soon others joined him. Laughing, chanting, and clapping. The bread turned bitter in Peter’s mouth, the cheese tasted foul, and the salami felt like paper on his tongue.

 

“ _Fahr zur Hölle_ , Flash!”

 

“Are you talking to me, Nazi boy?” Flash scowled.

 

“If I was a true Nazi, you wouldn’t be joking about it, trust me.”

 

It was almost sweet how worked up Alek could get over Flash bullying Peter. Even sweeter when he tried to defend his friend—not that he accomplished anything. Flash always had a few mean words for him, too. Thankfully, he left them after this round, pushing into Peter with his shoulder as he passed him, but all of them knew the whole scene would be repeated tomorrow.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Er, taking off my sweater?” Peter stopped mid-motion, his sweater drawn up to his neck. “It’s really hot, don’t you feel hot?”

 

“No, Peter! Don’t let asshole-ness win!” Alek made an attempt to re-dress his friend, who yelped and instinctively took a step back. It caused Alek to lose his balance so he did the logical thing and just grabbed harder. He ended up half-hugging, half-strangling Peter.

 

“Peter! Alexander! What are you—? Are you fighting, boys?”

 

“I’m, um, I’m dressing Peter?” Alek let go of his friend, who quickly rearranged his clothing.

 

“Okay, boys,” Mr. Rigby muttered, scratching his head. “No fighting on school grounds,” he added, just to be on the safe side.

 

“I have a question,” Alek said after Mr. Rigby walked away. “No, two questions. Three, actually.”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“Why is Mr. Rigby always the one patrolling the corridors? Why can’t he learn that my name is Aleksandar? Are we allowed to fight _outside_ the school grounds?”

 

Before Peter could answer, Deryn appeared behind them, surprising them with a barbaric yawp in their ears and a friendly clap on their shoulders.

 

“Jesus fudge-making Christ in a doghouse!” Alek gasped.

 

“Don’t faint, princess. What’s up, guys?”

 

Peter shrugged. “The usual.”

 

“Yeah, so it’s time to turn it into a nice day. Deryn, cheer Peter’s sweater!”

 

“What?”

 

“Say nice things to it! About it, I mean.”

 

“Aleksandar Hohenberg versus English language, one-zero.”

 

Peter knew that Deryn _tried_ to stop mocking Alek for his English. She once admitted to Peter that she was rapidly becoming a huge fan of Alek’s accent. She couldn’t hide a small smile that appeared on her face whenever she heard the Austrian boy pronounce _direction_ as “deer-action” or _sit_ as “zit”. Nor resist making a few remarks here and there. Peter wasn’t sure he liked Deryn’s playful mockery but ever since their first trip to the comic shop Alek had seemed to stop caring about it. He took it as friendly banter, no more.

 

“Oh, cry me a pond, Deryn.”

 

“Nice colour; red suits you.” She caressed the sleeve. “Nice texture, too. No wonder you’re the favourite crew member of the costume department.”

 

“I highly doubt that but thanks, Deryn. I should go.” Peter felt grateful that his friend made an effort to cheer him up, he did. He just didn’t think that anything could help to banish his gloomy thoughts today. “Need to revise calculus and stuff. See you later, guys.” He hoisted up his backpack and left, waving them goodbye.

 

“Pete! Want to come over tonight and play with Bovril?” Alek called after him.

 

Peter stopped in his tracks; it was hard to resist the promise of Bovril’s cuteness. “Sounds cool. Thanks, dude.”

  
  


Deryn waited until Peter disappeared around the corner before practically attacking Alek. “Spill.”

 

“Flash happened,” Alek said with a grim look. “This time he had problems with Peter’s sweater.”

 

“I’m going to squeeze Flash into his locker and never let him out. What did you say to him?”

 

“Go to hell. Boring, I know, but I think he likes it when I talk to him in German. Kinky.”

 

“Not Flash, Peter.”

 

“Not much because _somebody_ appeared and scared the living shit out of me.”

 

“I so hope your shit doesn’t live.”

 

“You know what I mean,” Alek huffed. “I’ll talk with Peter when he comes over. I wish someone would talk reason with Flash.”

 

“I don’t think he knows the meaning of _reason_ at all,” Deryn grimaced.

 

“Yeah, he’s not exactly a brainiac, despite being on decathlon team and everything. No wonder Peter annoys him so much—he’s the cleverest boy I’ve ever met and I come from a posh all-boys boarding school. Like, it took me months to solve the Rubik’s Cube. Peter? It took him half an hour.”

 

“And he isn’t just intelligent, he’s kind, too. I wasn’t kidding when I said he was the favourite of the costume department. Everybody likes him in Drama Club; I think Sam even has a crush on him.”

 

“Now that you mention it: what about your crush?”

 

Ouch. Deryn had walked right into the topic she didn’t want to talk about.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“I thought you were Mulan, not _Won't Say I'm In Love_ Megara.”

 

"I didn't know you watched Disney."

 

“I am full of surprises.”

 

“You're a guy of hasty and questionable decisions, if you ask me, but let's not go into that.” For example, only Alek would think it’d be a great idea to discuss Deryn’s non-existent love-life in the middle of the school. “Wait a minute, what's your problem with Megara?”

 

“I have no problem with her, and don’t change the topic! Seriously, we need to talk about it.”

 

“There is no _it_ to talk about.”

 

“There is: Lil- _it_.”

 

“Like I said, don’t want to talk about it. Got stuff to do and everything.” It was a blatant lie. Deryn was never the one to pity herself, but the only plan she had for her free time was hiding under her hoodie and listening to _Just Like A Pill_ on a loop.

 

“Sure, and I’m the pope.” Alek rolled his eyes. “Look, Deryn, I just want to help you.”

 

“No need, thanks. I just don’t like it when someone plays a prank on me in front of about thirty people.” There, she could get it out.

 

“You’re a _Dummkopf_! Lilit has been trying awfully hard to get you to see. Or do you think she helped you with your Spanish homework because she had a charitable fit? She likes you so much even I noticed it.” Alek sighed. “You’re two impossible girls, you know.”

 

“Aye, what do you know about girls at all?”

 

“Not much and I’m not sure I— Never mind. You’re being a ninny.”

 

“Okay, Mr. Well of Wisdom, tell me then: how could I miss the clues if it was so obvious that she liked me?”

 

“You didn’t,” Alek shook his head. “Miss the clues, I mean. The thing is, she made every move and you noticed it, but then you chickened out.”

 

“Where did you learn expressions like that?”

 

“From listening to conversations at school, but stop changing the topic.” He grabbed Deryn’s elbow and gently steered her towards the nearest empty classroom. “Come on, this isn’t a topic for the corridors.”

 

Inside the classroom Deryn hopped on top of a desk; Alek pulled out the chair next to it and sat down.

 

“So,” Alek scratched his neck, “are you, um, scared because you like a girl?”

 

“What? No, that’s yesterday’s news.”

 

“Cool. I mean, if you want to talk about it, we can talk—”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Deryn cut him off. She started swinging her legs, the caps of her shoes occasionally hitting the desk in front of her. “No offense but you have zero idea about— about girls, love, and other stuff.”

 

“Maybe, but I still know a few things. Like, I know that if you want something or someone really really hard, sometimes you need to be brave enough to do something crazy. Like kissing the girl you’ve fallen in love with in front of thirty people. Even if it means that you risk being rejected in front of an audience, you just _need_ to do it.” Alek stood up, so he could be at eye-to-eye level with Deryn. “Even if your crush is a total _Dummkopf_ who decides that you had pranked her instead of, I don’t know, talking about it…? I mean, come on, Deryn, you’re a smart girl. Yet you’re acting like a— a fainting cheerleader, pulling out the ‘she’s such a cool girl, how could she like me?’ card. You know damn well that you’re cool.”

 

Deryn grimaced; her face was all pink with embarrassment. “Do you really think so?”

 

“Yes, I do. And since you didn’t specify in your question, yes, I meant _all_ of it.”

 

“Pinkie swear?”

 

“Sorry, that’s— that’s not in my vocabulary.”

 

“Hold out your pinkie, I mean, your little finger. There.” She hooked their little fingers together. “Now, do you pinkie swear?”

 

“I pinkie swear that you and Lilit were meant to be together.” They shook their fingers. “Now, what will you do about it?”

 

“Nothing?” Alek rolled his eyes at the answer. “What? I can’t just walk up to her and tell her about my— my feelings, can I?”

 

“Why not? She kissed you in front of the whole Drama Club. What could go wrong in a face-to-face conversation with no audience?”

 

“Fair point.” Deryn jumped off the desk. “I’ll talk to Lilit at the party after the opening of the show.”

 

“Pinkie swear?”

 

“Very funny.” She pulled out her phone and quickly typed something. “It was great talking to you, Alek. However, I must go because I’ve just had the greatest idea and need to do something about it. See ya later!”

 

Deryn headed to the great hall where she met Doctor Barlow. It wasn’t entirely coincidental.

 

“Deryn Sharp! Did you just try to summon me by text?” Doctor Barlow merely raised an eyebrow, but that was one scary eyebrow. Yet Deryn decided to play cheeky.

 

“Since you’re here, I think I’ve succeeded, haven’t I?” Now those eyebrows were knotted. Okay, maybe cheekiness was only tolerated when it came from Volger. “I need your help.”

 

“That’s some way asking for it.”

 

“I know and I’m sorry, but it’s kind of a life or death question.”

 

“If it’s about your performance, you’re doing just fine. I think you finally understood that the key was in the moves, didn’t you?”

 

“Aye, I remembered how I used to mimick Jaspert when I— when I was Dylan.”

 

Was it just her imagination or a small smile tugged at Doctor Barlow’s lips? “You fooled me back then. I don’t think you should worry about your Cesario.”

 

Deryn blinked in surprise. “I always thought you’d known but played along.”

 

“Only because I make it a policy never to appear surprised. But I truly believed for some time that you had a twin called Dylan.”

 

“Cool!”

 

“But if it’s not what you want to discuss, why was I asked here in such a questionable way?”

 

Deryn quickly looked around. The great hall seemed empty but still, she tried to keep her voice down when she asked, “Could you talk to Flash? About Peter, I mean.” When Doctor Barlow didn’t answer, she went on. “Flash keeps being a bully and no matter how hard Peter tries to ignore him, you can’t ignore away the problem itself. And if I don’t want to get expelled from school, I can’t break his nose every single time he opens his mouth.”

 

“I’ll see what can I do.”

 

Deryn felt slightly disappointed. A _maybe_ wasn’t bad but a definite _yes_ would have suited her hopes better.

 

“Thank you. Well then, see you at the rehearsal, I think. Bye!”

 

“Deryn!” She turned back. “Why did you come to me?”

 

“Because you’re a teacher. An adult. You represent authority,” Deryn stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Also, you’re the most collected and logical person I know. If anyone can deal with Flash, it’s you.”

 

Doctor Barlow nodded. “I’ll talk with him as soon as the occasion arises. Try not to break his nose until then.”

 

Deryn grinned. Now, this was a _yes_. She so hoped Doctor Barlow would pull off at least a Minerva McGonagall performance. She’d always reminded Deryn of her all-time favourite Harry Potter character, Minerva McGonagall, the witch who was always just and always true to her principles. Plus, she used sarcasm masterfully and could turn into a cat. Who could be any more badass than that?

 

Lilit, a small voice said at the back of her mind. Deryn answered it with putting in her earphones and listening to _Just Like A Pill_ on maximum volume. Ignorance would be bliss for one more day.

 

***

 

Volger offered to take Peter home after he and Alek had spoilt Bovril rotten by caressing the kitten’s tummy. Offered? More like he had ordered the politely objecting Peter to sit in the car.

 

“Everything all right, Peter?” he asked as the boy buckled his seatbelt. “You seem a bit… under the weather.”

 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Peter shrugged. “Bit tired, that’s all. Tech week really is hell week and there’s a lot of stuff going on right now.”

 

“I understand. _Manchmal bleiben wir alle in einer persönlichen dunklen Wolke hängen_. ” When he realised what he just said, Volger almost drove the car into a post lamp. “ _Schei_ _ße_! Please, don’t ever tell Tony Stark that I quoted his novel by heart. I beg you.”

 

“I guess I can promise that,” Peter said, sounding more bitter than intended. Then something caught his attention. “Wait, how come you can quote him by heart?”

 

“Alek made me read _Eine Welt ohne Helden._ ” Under Peter’s questioning glance, Volger added, “I don’t remember the original title but he said it was your favourite Stark novel.”

 

“Ah, the _World Without Heroes_! My favorite, yeah, true. But I know that Alek finds it a deeply depressing story.”

 

“That’s funny coming from someone whose favourite Stark novel is the one about a hallucinating alcoholic living in a post-apocalyptic world where his only chance for reuniting with his family is sacrificing his life for a stranger. If that’s not a grim look at humanity, I don’t know what is.” Volger paused, getting back to his original train of thoughts before he went on, “However, in my opinion, even though this _World Without Heroes_ might deal with heavy questions and might not give us reassuring answers, it’s still a very optimistic book. Can you tell me why?”

 

“Because it’s full of so much hope,” Peter said in a small voice. “I’ve always thought that the title was deceptive. It’s not a world without heroes that Mr. Stark created, it’s a world full of heroes. Everyone who gives others hope is a hero.”

 

“Well, sometimes even heroes need a little feedback.” Volger stroked his moustache as if he was unsure what to say next. Or whether he should it at all. “Alek tends not to take my advice and I swear every second day I’ll stop giving my advice but— Old habits die hard, see? So, advice. From me, to you. Tell your hero that you need him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Manchmal bleiben wir alle in einer persönlichen dunklen Wolke hängen._ \- Sometimes we all get stuck under our personal dark cloud.


	10. Opening Night

_Dear Mr. Stark,_

 

_dear Tony,_

 

_I’m writing you this letter to tell you that I’m sorry and I miss you. I thought that maybe I should call you up but you might have not answered—which I would have totally understood. Or you might have answered it and then I might have started rambling instead of apologizing. So I’m sending you my official apology through an official letter. I mean, I’m not actually_ _sending_ _it to you, I’ll probably just drop it into your letterbox (I know that Pepper checks it every day)._

 

_I’m sorry if you ever felt disappointed in me. About that night (when you probably_ _did_ _feel disappointed) I have to tell you that although I’m not proud of my hasty decision-making, I’m grateful to have all these wonderful people in my life. I didn’t mean all those things I said! I was scared that I hadn’t done enough, that you’d be disappointed in me—but I never asked you. It was awful: we didn’t talk, we just shouted at each other._

 

_So many times that I felt unsure, I just started to make assumptions without asking questions first. Drama club sounded like an okay decision but then I began doubting myself. Should I have aspired to become an actor? Or should I be more interested in prop-making than lights and sound? Then I got both sound and light tech, and I thought I was ready. For the real big stuff, you know. But great tasks come with great responsibility._

 

_I can’t believe I’m not on the phone but still rambling! This letter-writing is harder than I thought. Also, I miss the remarks you’d make if we were talking._

 

_To clear it up: I’m only in charge of the lights now. Timothy the sound designer wanted to be in charge of the music (which isn’t so surprising from a guy who promised to play DJ on the opening night afterparty) and I’m okay with that. I wasn’t for a while, but as I’m writing this I’ve come to understand that I’m good. It’s nice to dream big but I’m better staying and doing my best on the ground. The big stuff will find me when I’m actually ready, but right now I don’t really need it._

 

_I need you._

 

_You, May, Ned, MJ, Pepper, Alek, Deryn—you’re amazing and inspirational people who keep my world spinning. I’m sorry if you ever felt disappointed in me and it’d be awesome to be back on speaking terms._

 

_And before I forget: tomorrow it’s the play’s opening night! You and Pepper are very welcome to come if you’re amenable._

 

_I’m sorry; I know I should have written sooner._

 

_Best wishes,_

_Peter_

 

_P. S. I find letter-writing surprisingly difficult—now I appreciate your novels even more!!!_

 

***

 

Sneaking out of the house to deliver his letter to Mr. Stark at midnight might have been another questionable decision, but the next morning Peter felt like a weight had been taken off his shoulders so he crossed the mission off as half-successful at least. His balloon of confidence was shaken by Flash, but not popped when the bully shouted:

 

“So opening night, huh? Hey, everyone! Penis Parker goes for the full monty tonight!”

 

Deryn crossed her arms in front of her chest—probably to keep herself from punching Flash again. “Am I the only one or you can feel the suppressed gay frustration radiating off Eugene, too?”

 

“Oh, look, here come Scottish Freak and Hitlerjugend Boy!”

 

“You’re such a _Schleppdampfer_ , Flash.” Alek rolled his eyes.

 

Peter felt he should say something smart in defense of his friends but Doctor Barlow beat him to it. Despite wearing high heels (Peter didn’t know much about women’s wear but those should have clicked on the tiles, shouldn’t they?) she appeared abruptly like a backstage ninja. Or, judging by the look on her face, a professional assassin.

 

“I’d like to have word with you, Mr. Thompson.”

 

“Now, Ms.?”

 

“Now.”

 

If anyone asked him, Peter would definitely nominate Aunt May, Pepper, and Doctor Barlow to become the next Charlie’s Angels, Totally Spies, Dora Milaje, or whatever other deadly trifecta fitted them best.

 

“Do you think we’ll see him again alive?”

 

“Who cares?” Deryn grinned and turned to Alek. “What did you say to him?”

 

“I have no idea how to say it in English.” He quickly pulled out his phone from his pocket, opened Google translate and typed in the word. “Here!”

 

“Tugboat,” Deryn read aloud, before looking up, her eyes wide in surprise. “That’s not even a swear word!”

 

“Everything sounds offensive if you glare hard enough,” Alek shrugged. “I learnt that from MJ.”

 

“I can’t believe we get a school-free day thanks to the opening night and when we come in the first person we have to meet is Eugene Thompson!”

 

“Yeah, guys, Flash sucks,” Peter sighed, “but I’m glad that you became my friends.”

 

***

 

As a set builder, Joe got tasked with bringing the printed photos into the theatre for the premiere. Everyone was excited to finally see them—and slightly nervous since they had no plan B if the result turned out horrible. They’d only had a short time to complete the project so were hoping that three pictures would be enough for MJ. If not… well, at least they had fun during the process.

 

Of course they made one imitating the American gothic; Hannah rode the bus with her grandfather’s pitchfork for the sake of the photo. There was a little confusion when Joe arrived with a similar pitchfork, borrowed from the school’s gardener, but they got over it by putting both tools in the composition. In the picture, which was shot in front of the school, both Sam and Peter held one.

 

“It looks cool.” The backstagers were so wrapped up in admiring their work they didn’t notice MJ walking up behind them. “Great job; I love the idea.”

 

“It was Peter’s idea,” Hannah chirped, “but we chose which paintings to do by voting.”

 

The second photo featured Alek wrapped in a white sheet, holding a blue-white-red flag in his hand, followed by shouting backstagers.

 

“He kinda looks like he’s stealing the tricolor from us,” Erik joked.

 

“Ssh, it’s brilliant!” MJ whispered. “Next one, please!”

 

“It’s the last one,” Stan explained as he rolled the poster out.

 

There sat Peter, Sam, Joe, Hannah, and Erik around a table: they were eating French fries in the badly lit canteen.

 

“I didn’t know I wanted this until I saw it. Well done, squad,” concluded the almighty director and the backstagers cheered a little. “Although I’d show these to the actors before they get a laughing fit on the stage.”

 

Stan clapped his hands. “Okay, let’s frame them!”

 

“Good job, ladies and gentlemen.” Lee smiled.

 

Erik and Joe stayed to work on the posters while the others scattered away to do their pre-rehearsal tasks. Peter brought down the box with the mics, getting them ready for the actors.

 

“Those aren’t what I think they are, are they?” Alek appeared, dressed in his black and duke-blue costume. “Whoa, that was a mouthful.”

 

“Yes, they are,” Erik nodded, handing the canteen poster to Joe for framing. “Thanks for the help with the liberty one.”

 

“It was fun; I should thank you for involving me in the project.” He grinned before turning to Peter. “I’m ready for my microphone, good sir!”

 

“At ease, dude.” Peter took out a clip-on mic from its box and carefully disentangled the cable. “How do you feel?”

 

“Great! Very excited.”

 

“Excited or nervous?”

 

“Both, I guess.” Alek shrugged, almost disengaging his barely clipped-on mic. “Oops, sorry! And how do _you_ feel?”

 

“Surprisingly calm. I mean, part of me is ready to puke my insides out but the other part says it’s fine as long as I don’t do it on the console.”

 

“Hey, guys, can somebody help me with this?” Sam turned up with a can of cocktail Vienna sausage. “I can’t open it.”

 

“Sure, give it to me.” Peter held out his hand.

 

“Ew!” Alek grimaced. “I’m pretty sure that canned stuff has never even seen anything similar to a proper sausage.”

 

“Lucky thing only Sir Toby has to eat them.”

 

“Thank goodness Michelle didn’t turn Orsino into a sausage-fan. Although I can’t believe she missed this opportunity for a phallic joke…”

 

“Ouch!”

 

Twenty seconds.

 

It took Peter twenty seconds and a lid of a can to cut a deep, bleeding wound on his palm. Luckily it was his left palm; a small ray of sunshine for a right-handed person.

 

“Are you bleeding?” Sam gasped.

 

“What? No!” Only Peter Parker would panic and try to hide his injury by pressing his palm into his chest. Not that it helped; Sam still looked close to tears.

 

“I’m so sorry, Peter.”

 

“It’s hardly your fault.”

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

“Not at all,” Peter hissed through gritted teeth.

 

“I’m bringing the first aid kit!” Sam offered, rushing off.

 

“What’s up, guys?” Deryn arrived to the scene, wearing her shipwrecked phoenix dress. She frowned when she spotted Peter’s red-blotched, used-to-be-white T-shirt. “I hope that’s ketchup, _Dummkopf_.” The boys exchanged an uncertain look. “What happened?”

 

“Long story.” Peter waved with his injured hand, wincing. “I’ll just cover the stain with my sweater.”

 

“You don’t need a sweater,” Deryn shook her head, “you need some water, Betadine, a bandage, and maybe a piece of chocolate for the shock.”

 

“Hey Sam, do you need help with these?” Hannah walked in, holding the box containing the balloons for the final scene, waiting to be pumped up. She stopped and looked around, her eyebrows knitted. “Weird. I thought I’d find her here. Have you seen Sam?”

 

“She _was_ here but she ran away because Peter cut his hand,” Alek explained.

 

Peter groaned. “It’s getting more and more embarrassing by every minute.”

 

“I mean, she didn’t run away because he cut his hand, obviously. She went to fetch some band aids.”

 

Deryn inspected Peter’s palm closely. “This wound will need more than a band aid. Do you want me to find Doctor Barlow? She’s a biology teacher after all; if she’s fine with teaching about body stuff, she’ll be fine with treating it.”

 

Hannah rolled her eyes. “I bet that I can dress a wound if I can dress an actor.”

 

Before she could have proved herself right with the first aid kit that Sam brought, Kamala appeared. “Guess who’s here for the premiere!” She halted, her gaze transfixed on Peter’s hand carefully held by her fellow dresser. “What did you do now?”

 

“The scent of blood attracts predators,” Alek muttered, slyly glancing around the room. “So, where are Michelle and Lilit, now that’s the question.”

 

“Don’t speak of the devil,” Deryn whispered.

 

“Deryn Sharp!”

 

“You know what I mean. Peter would die of embarrassment if MJ saw him like this, circled by the female members of the backstage crew, cooing over his cut palm.”

 

“You wish you were being surrounded  by so many nice girls, you envious goblin.”

 

“Your ‘witty’ comebacks are still hopeless,” Deryn rolled her eyes at him, then turned to Kamala. “You never told us who you saw.”

 

“Flash, with a very dark look on his face.”

 

“Did he bring rotten tomatoes?”

 

“As far as I know, no, he didn’t.” Kamala bit her lip.

 

“Then I don’t care about him.” Deryn shrugged. “MJ’s his decathlon captain, too, so he might be here if he wants to see her masterpiece of directing. My performance won’t be better or worse just because he wears a grim look.”

 

“And my work won’t be better or worse because I wear a bandage.” Peter held up his left hand. With the white gauze and his blood-covered T-shirt he looked like a character from a slasher movie. “Thank you for the medical attendance, ladies, but I have to put on some mics. Deryn, if you’d be so kind...”

 

***

 

Volger fixed his tie before entering the auditorium where Nora greeted him with a kiss.

 

“You look handsome.”

 

“You look as always,” he smiled, pausing for a second, “sweet and beautiful.”

 

“Sweet? You’re eager for your punishment, aren’t you?” Nora slipped her arm into his. “Come, I’ve managed to reserve good seats right next to some kind acquaintances.”

 

“By acquaintances, do you mean Deryn’s family?”

 

“And Peter’s. When Tony Stark wants to be noticed, it’s hard not to spot him.”

 

Volger frowned. “That’s quite a lot of people including us. Did you reserve a whole row?”

 

“I might have. Perks of being the choreographer.” Nora nudged him gently. “You don’t have to do small-talk if you don’t want to.”

 

“It’s all right. I’m a civilized man who can make civilized conversation.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a ghost of a smirk. “Actually, I was surprised to find out that, despite the first impression of being socially awkward, Tony Stark’s a collected man. Or so several YouTube videos suggest.”

 

“You watched YouTube videos about Tony Stark.”

 

“For science!” Volger would never ever understood how Nora could suggest so many things with one lifted eyebrow. “He’s Alek’s favourite author, I had to look him up.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

They reached their row and took their seats; Volger ended up between Tony Stark and Nora.

 

“Not that I doubt your or Alek’s tastes, but I hope this isn’t going to be some High School Shakespeare Musical. I’m too old for that.”

 

Nora theatrically lifted her hand to her temple. “ _Ach, mach dich locker, Volger!_ ”

 

“Was that a ‘chill out, yo’ in German?” asked Stark. “Because it sounded like it.”

 

Volger ignored the question. “Since when do you speak German?”

 

“Since we stopped having dates on Wednesday because I was always busy?”

 

“Ah.” Volger nodded, his brows still knitted. “But why do you learn German when we can just talk in English?”

 

“I really need to make you watch _Love Actually_ ,” Nora sighed. “Since you were interested, I learnt this expression from Alek in exchange for feeding him tips about how to keep a cat alive and well.”

 

“This cat mafia is getting out of hand…”

 

“Shush, everyone!” whispered Pepper Potts. “It’s beginning!”

 

***

 

_“Third warning. Standby for everyone; the show starts in five minutes. Third warning. General standby.”_

 

_Waiting for the start, I felt almost disappointed for not being nervous, not even a wee bit. I had expected at least sweaty palms or trembling hands but didn’t experience any of the symptoms of stage fright. Nothing._ Nada.

 

_After rearranging my “skirt” one last time I readied myself for entering the stage—but someone grabbed my elbow._

 

_“Pst! Deryn!” Alek breathed into my ear. “I wish a neck and leg break!”_

 

_I snorted. If breaking a leg brought good luck, guess Peter had brought tons of it upon us with his wound._

 

_“Thanks,_ Dummkopf. _Break a leg!”_

 

_I walked out to the stage and sat down in the middle. In the first scene I had to spend about ten seconds all alone before the Captain came in and started a dialogue with Viola. Or more like, Viola started it by exclaiming: “_ O, my poor brother!" _So when Stan gave the signal and Joe pulled the curtains apart, I sat there in the spotlight, stared at by about a hundred people for ten long seconds._

 

_Now my stomach jumped into a tight, small knot. But did I panic?_

 

_I could have. My voice could have trembled when I said my first words. Or I could have completely forgotten my lines. Or I could have tripped over my own two feet during the waltz! (We had seen that before.) Or I could have entered and exited the stage at the wrong point._

 

_What’s more, when Lilit said “_ love sought is good, but given unsought better" _, I could have kissed her. Out. Of. Spite._

 

_Yeah, had I panicked, I could have done many dangerous things. Panicking never brought out the best version of me._

 

_When Lilit had kissed me, instead of going through the scene, then catching her in the backstage for a snog, I had run away. Later I returned to the rehearsal but ever since then only Viola did the talking, not me. Did I really think it would be the best solution?_

 

_Alek was right: I had acted like a brainless chicken. Of course, Lilit could have chosen a less dramatic method to declare her interest in me—but let’s face it, if  I had wanted less drama, I should never have fallen for Lilit._

 

_So, good news, everyone: this time I didn’t panic!_

 

_Wanna know why?_

 

_Because guess what? Suffering is beautiful—or what MJ said—and acting is fun. So I hugged the stage fright close to my chest, recited all those Shakespearean words carefully and did what Viola would have expected from me: I was awesome._

 

***

 

As an afterthought, Tony had to admit he would have enjoyed the performance more if he hadn’t been so nervous about his upcoming encounter with Peter. Waiting for the kid to emerge from the backstage, he shoved his hands into his pockets to keep himself from drumming his fingers on every available surface. He was thinking about his possibilities: should he pat Peter on the shoulder and just go back to as they used to be? Should he apologize in front of everyone? Neither option sounded right.

 

Alek was the first one to arrive.

 

“Deryn’s dressing and Peter needs to pack up a few things but they’ll be here soon,” he informed the adults before enveloping Volger in a surprise hug. That man had never looked like the hugging type but from the twitch of his moustache Tony deduced that he was fine with hugs coming from certain people.

 

“Congratulations, Aleksandar.”

 

“Thanks, _Graf_.”

 

“Congratulations,” said Tony before turning to Pepper. “I’m going to peek backstage.”

 

He even winked, but she still rolled her eye at his lame excuse. “As if you’ve never been backstage before…”

 

Tony slipped behind the first black curtain and almost collided with Deryn.

 

“Sorry!” they said in unison.

 

“Peter’s right behind the stage with the mics.”

 

“Thanks! And congratulations, by the way.”

 

“Thank you!”

 

Behind the stage, okay. Tony hoped he wouldn’t get lost in this labyrinth of black curtains and screens. He flipped another curtain and found an unfamiliar blond kid with a curly-haired girl, both of them busy rolling up posters.

 

“Hey, kids, is Peter around somewhere?”

 

“Yes,” the girl nodded, gesturing towards the curtain on their left, “right there.”

 

“Tha—”

 

There came a loud snap, followed by a sharp cry—Peter’s voice, Tony’d have recognized it anywhere. Then a thud and the dull crash of some furniture, maybe.

 

“A shot!” blond boy screamed in absolute terror. “It was a gunshot!” he dropped to the floor, pulling the girl with him.

 

Something didn’t feel right but Tony was beyond rational thinking. Every nerve, every cell in his body buzzed with fear. What if it _was_ a gunshot? What if Peter got hurt? Without further thought, he ducked behind the curtain, shooters be damned.

 

The first thing Tony noticed was Peter, lying in the remains of something that once must have been a table, the front of his T-shirt covered in blood.

 

“Peter!”


	11. Pinky

“Peter!”

 

Mr. Stark, _no_ , Tony was kneeling at Peter’s side.

 

“Oh, hey,” he tried to sit up.

 

“You’re alright.” Tony gently pushed him back by his shoulder. “Just don’t move, okay? You’ll be fine. Lie still, okay? Just lie still. I need to see where were you shot.”

  
“Shot? I wasn’t shot.”

  
“But we heard a— Everyone thought— There was a noise, right? It sounded like— Oookay, we might have panicked a bit.”

  
“Sorry.” Peter sat up and scratched his neck in his embarrassment. “We didn’t mean to— It’s quite stupid, really. Hannah accidentally stepped on a balloon. Then I slipped and fell, and _of course_ the table broke under my weight and what’s worse, I cut my hand before the performance and I managed to land on my bad hand, and now it hurts like hell and I think it’s bleeding again.”

 

“Thank fudge-making God,” Tony muttered before turning towards the curtain and shouting out to the scared students: “All clear! You’re safe! It was a balloon. I repeat, you’re safe.” Turning back to Peter, Tony scratched his neck in a very familiar way. “Sorry about the extra drama.”

 

“It’s okay, M— Tony.”

 

“Let me look at that hand.”

 

“No, no, no, I’m fine! I don’t think it’s actually bleeding again, I might have exaggerated that.”

 

“Your aunt will be teaching you the meaning of _exaggeration_ if you greet her in a bloody T-shirt.”

 

“Sh— shirt! I forgot to put on my sweater; it’s just so hot up there in the booth…” Peter’s voice faded as he realised they had been talking like no argument had happened. Well, he could work with that. Probably.

 

“Yeah, I want to hear all about your theatre technician experience, but first—” Tony rearranged his limbs from kneeling into cross-legged sitting. “You scared your old man, kid.”

 

“I’m sorry about this balloon-and-table incident—” Peter started but Tony stopped him with a shake of his head.

 

“I’m not talking about tonight. It was scary as hell, yes, but I’m talking about my fear of you never speaking to me ever again.”

 

“I was worried about the same thing,” Peter pointed out. “I mean, _you_ not speaking to me.”

 

Tony threw up his hands. “I don’t want to understate the fact that in the end you acted more mature than me, but I’d desperately like to bring up pitiful excuses in my defense. Like, I’m trying not to mess up things but sometimes it’s hard. I mean, I’ve never had a teenage kid before, so brand new experiences and all.” He sighed. “I’m sorry about missing your robot exhibition and for the radio silence. Might be hard to believe but I thought it was me giving you space. Perfect asshole move, right?”

 

Peter lifted his hand to scratch his neck again, then dropped. “Neither of us showed up with our best faces.”

 

“No, no, let me swim in self-hatred, it’ll pass soon anyway.” In Peter’s opinion Tony could have been a lifeguard on the beach of self-hatred. “I always give you the I’ll stand by you speech—and then I just take it back? Who does that? See, _I_ did, and I’m not proud of myself at all. But I’m very proud of you, Peter. Don’t you ever think that I’m not, and don’t you ever let _me_ make you think I’m not.”

 

Peter nodded, his throat tight.

 

“It’s not all about me being there for you when you need me. The fact is that I need you, too, kid. So I promise that in the future I’ll try to act smarter and listen better.”

 

“I think I can promise that, too.”

 

“Wonderful. Can we hug now?”

 

Peter hesitated for a second: would it be okay to tackle Tony with a swoop-hug…? Counting today’s damages (one injured palm, one broken table) it might not be such a good idea so he discarded it. In the end they both scrambled to their knees, meeting in a reasonably paced but tight embrace.

 

“Soon I’ll be totes taller than you.” Peter smiled into Tony’s shoulder.

 

“You’re very lucky that I can’t hear you over my emotional state.” Tony squeezed Peter before letting go. “Okay, kid, help up your old man before his weak knees are ruined forever.”

 

“Coincidentally, I know someone who invents awesome prosthetic limbs.”

 

“Pete— Oh, sorry for barging in!” Sam broke the moment. “Gee, what happened to that table?”

 

Peter jumped up like he was bitten by a spider. “Sorry about that! At least it was empty when I fell on it. But I’ll buy another one at IKEA, okay? Although there’s no IKEA in Maine, but I’ll figure it out. I mean, there are other shops to buy furniture, right?”

 

“It’s fine,” Sam shrugged. “I just hope you didn’t get hurt because it sounded an awfully lot like you had… But then someone shouted it was safe and there was no more noise, so I thought I’d check upon you.”

 

“You got scared of a possible shooting but still walked in here? Awfully bold.”

 

Tony growled. “It’s outrageous how unsafe schools make the students feel nowadays. I mean, panic broke out due to a _balloon_ , for Jupiter’s sake! And what do we, responsible adults, do about school safety? Bulletproof backpacks! What about a stricter gun control? No, we don’t talk about that; weapons are just too profitable, so obviously safer schools would mean less money. No surprise students drop to the floor when a balloon is popped.” The kids blinked at him. Rapidly. “Sorry, I might have gotten a bit carried away.”

 

“But we totes agree,” Peter reassured him. “By the way, I haven’t even introduced you two! So, meet Sam. She’s brilliant.”

 

“Samantha Wilson.”

 

She quickly stretched out her hand and Tony shook it. “Nice to meet you, Sam. I’m Tony Stark.”

 

“As in A. I. Ironman,” Peter whispered.

 

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Really? Sir, I absolutely adore your books.”

 

“You never mentioned!” Peter gaped. “Sam’s our prop master, mic-changer, and she also likes your stories. Told you she was brilliant!”

 

“I’m always glad to meet Peter’s brilliant friends,” Tony smiled at them, “but what, pray tell, does a mic-changer do?”

 

“The school doesn’t have clip-on mics for every actor in the play,” Sam explained, “so I made a list of the scenes with the actors in it and kept changing the mics on them between the scenes.”

 

“At the same time, she kept handing out and taking back props.”

 

“What do you mean that the school can’t afford enough microphones?” Tony frowned. “Your Drama Club is in desperate need for an anonymous donation.”

 

“But—”

 

“No _but_ s in showbusiness, kid.” He put an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Come on, lead me out of this backstage labyrinth. I bet Pepper and May think I got lost and the mice ate me.”

 

Peter picked up the box with the mics and smiled at his friendly neighbourhood mentor. “All right. But first, I need to deliver these beauties back to the booth—that place is full of tech, you’ll love it. Do you want a tour? Because I could give you one.” He paused to look back. “See you at the party, Sam!”

 

***

 

The party started with MJ grabbing a microphone.

 

“Ladies, gentlemen,” she bowed a little, “I’d like to thank everyone who worked so hard to bring the best out of this play. Since I’m _just_ a director, I can’t express myself properly, so I’ll say this one thing: the whole rehearsal period was a huge learning experience for me. I’m grateful to Red Land High School for the opportunity—with special thanks for Mrs. Winterhalter for teaching us to speak Shakespearean! Also, many, many thanks go to Doctor Barlow for clarifying the difference between our left and right legs.”

 

Peter and Alek shared a smile. Since waltz practice had now been relegated to a funny memory, they almost hoped that Timothy (or, from now on, DJ Sakaar) would play _Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman?_ for the club members.

 

“Huge thanks to the actors; I’m very proud of your work. Even though I had some weird ideas, you always went with them. The same goes for the most amazing backstage crew—guys, you’re the best. Truly the best. I hope everyone had fun because I enjoyed creating this show very much.” MJ took a deep breath, and Peter wondered if he had ever seen her this shy. “And now that I’ve expressed my never-ending gratitude, it’s time to celebrate! Let’s dance!”

 

She tried to elegantly disappear in the crowd, but the crowd was very much interested in her, stopping her with congratulations and hugs. Luckily for her, Timothy started to play music, and soon she could find some peace, leaning against the wall.

 

Peter walked up to her to say, “Congratulations, MJ,” and she didn’t seem to mind _his_ presence.

 

“You too, Peter,” she smiled, “and thank you. You worked magic with those lights.”

 

“And you worked magic with this bunch called Drama Club.”

 

“Yeah, I think I’m getting into the swing of directing,” MJ nodded. “Next time we could do _Pride and Prejudice_. Lilit would make a perfect Elizabeth and I can picture Deryn becoming stiff Mr. Darcy. Alek could play Bingley and, let me see—Peter, don’t you want to audition for Jane?”

 

“No, thanks. I’m a happy backstage ninja.”

 

She poked him gently in the shoulder. “Glad to hear that.”

 

Peter opened his mouth—to compliment her further? To ask her for a dance? That didn’t sound like a hundred percent stupid idea…

 

“Hey, guys!” Alek beamed upon them. “Sorry, can I borrow Peter for a moment? Need your help, man.”

 

“Ninjas can never rest?” MJ chuckled but left them alone. Peter wished he’d asked her before Alek appeared—or maybe not. Maybe Alek saved him from total embarrassment.

 

“What’s up?”

 

“Come with me.” Alek led him to the DJ board. “Hey, can we ask— Wait, what’s this song?”

 

“ _Point Of View_ by L. O. R. E. featuring The Giraffe.”

 

Alek nodded his head to the rhythm of the song. “I like it. So, after this one could you play us something by P!nk?”

 

“Like what, _Here Comes The Weekend_?”

 

“I thought maybe something more—more romantic.”

 

“What are we doing?” Peter whispered but the music was roaring now so he had to repeat his question louder.

 

“We’re testing if Deryn can hit a cue off-stage.” Alek winked.

 

“Okay, I think I found the one. One P!nk coming up next!”

 

“Thanks, Tim!”

 

“It’s DJ Sakaar tonight.”

 

***

 

Deryn was sure she looked like she was stalking Lilit, as she’d been following her everywhere since the party had started. She wanted to speak to her but was waiting for the right opportunity. No, Deryn Sharp wasn’t a coward, she just had an awful sense of timing. She didn’t bother with formulating a speech, hoping that the words would come within the moment. But when would the moment come?

 

When _Beautiful Trauma_ started to play by P!nk, Deryn felt it: time to take a leap of faith and launch into action. Gently but firmly pushing people from her path, she walked up to Lilit and looked into her eyes.

 

“I want to dance with you,” she said, taking Lilit’s hand and leading her into the crowd of dancing people.

 

All right, that went well. Lilit didn’t pull away, on the contrary, she curled her fingers around Deryn’s hand and now they were doing this hand-swinging sort of dance. The actions came easier than words—and maybe this was her way! Peter and Alek were the talkers, always rambling about something, but maybe, maybe Doctor Barlow was right again: the secret lay in the moves and the gestures. Not only when it came to Shakespeare, but every time it mattered.

 

Deryn reached out with her free hand, put her arm around Lilit’s waist and pulled her close.

 

Lilit smiled. “Hey, Pinky.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

She leaned close, whispering into her ear, “Now is the time to kiss me.”

 

If she hadn’t been too busy with the task at hand, Deryn would have grinned. This bold girl with the mischievous smile was the Lilit she had fallen for.

 

Well, time to let actions speak for her.

 

Deryn might not have practiced kissing before, but as their lips met she immediately knew one thing for sure: she’d be much, much better at kissing than waltzing.

 

***

 

“We shouldn’t stare at them,” Peter shouted to Alek as they were hanging on the stall bars to get a better view of Deryn and Lilit.

 

Alek nodded, grinning widely, and they climbed down. “So glad it worked out for them in the end. No more loony eyes!”

 

“I think _moon_ eyes will be more frequent from now on— But we’ll see. They make a nice couple.”

 

“Their love has blossomed with the help of _palabras_ , Shakespeare, and P!nk.”

 

“As you say, dude.” Peter smiled before suddenly enveloping Alek in a quick, tight hug. “Ugh, sorry, I just—”

 

“It was fine.” Luckily, in the half dark room nobody could have seen that Alek’s cheeks had turned slightly pink. “I think I’m getting better at this hugging thing.”

 

“Cool. I’m just— You know— Do you think someone can burst from happiness?”

 

“I don’t think it has been scientifically proven but just to stay on the safe side—let’s dance it out!”

 

“What?”

 

“I said we should dance, too!” Alek repeated, this time shouting. “I mean, not you and me… together… but we. Like two individuals. Should dance, too.”

 

“Great idea! After all, Shakespearean comedies used to end with a dude playing the lute and everybody dancing.”

 

“Thank God MJ didn’t choose a tragedy or the gym would be covered by dead bodies now.”

 

“See, ending a story is hard. Mr.— I mean, Tony always says that.” Peter shrugged. “I guess you can’t end _everything_ with death or dancing.”

 

“Why not, dancing is just— Oooh, I can’t believe he put on the _Have You Ever_ , it’s that Bryan Adam song with a really long name! You can’t simply skip dancing to this very song.”

 

“I know, right? I know. It’s just like the laws of physics, inevitable.”

 

And just like that, inevitably and gleefully, everybody danced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @[zojnks](http://zojnks.tumblr.com/) and @[lawrofsakaar](https://lawrofsakaar.tumblr.com/) for the help!  
> Shout-out to the [mods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiderVerseBigBangMods) for organizing this event! I'd have never finished this fic without the challenge.  
> Many thanks to Gerda and Dani for helping with the German bits!  
> Thanks a million for being my Volger-picker (I mean, Leviathan expert), @[flannelgiraffe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelgiraffe/pseuds/flannelgiraffe)!  
> An avalanche of thanks to @[ohstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstars/pseuds/ohstars) for the beautiful art and the endless support!  
> And last but not least Lore has my undying gratitude for putting up with my silly English, answering my silly questions, always being patient, and being an amazing beta in general. THANK YOU!


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